


Gentle Hands, Tender Hearts

by astrocartographer



Series: To Be Cared for by Another [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, The Dawning (Destiny), content warnings will be added when relevant, guardian's gender is up to you, more tags will be added as fic progresses!, rated t for language + some themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrocartographer/pseuds/astrocartographer
Summary: A collection of moments of the wooing of the Guardian by Saint-14, and vice versa.[a spiritual prequel to“Far More Radiant Than I”]
Relationships: Female Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Male Guardian/Saint-14 (Destiny), Osiris/Saint-14 (implied), Saint-14 (Destiny)/Reader
Series: To Be Cared for by Another [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652452
Comments: 109
Kudos: 333





	1. Arrival of the Birds

The Tower is in a great kerfuffle when you arrive. You’ve only been gone for a couple of days, but something significant has happened that’s got everyone frenzied. Guardians are running back and forth, whispering to each other in frantic tones, calling out to each other from across the courtyard and beckoning each other to the Hangar. You try to ignore them - the City isn’t on fire, there’s probably no need to worry about anything - but when you get jostled several times on the way to visit Eva Levante, you have to ask someone. 

You tap a passing Hunter on the shoulder and they nearly jump out of their boots. “Um, sorry. Do you mind if I ask what’s going on? I just got here, and everyone’s freaking out.” 

“Saint-14’s back,” they reply, breathless. It takes a moment for them to register who you are before they go, “Oh, shit! Uh, you probably know that already, right?” 

“No, I don’t.”

“He didn’t think to like, tell you? Y’know, since you brought him back from the dead and all that?” 

“I’ve been away.” 

“Oh, cool, cool.” 

“Thank you for the help.” 

“Yeah, no problem. Uh, bye!” They skitter away to join a group of people you presume are their friends. As you turn to finish your walk to Eva’s station, you hear them say, “YOOOOOOOO, YOU GUYS WON’T FUCKIN’  _ BELIEVE _ WHAT JUST HAPPENED!” 

You try not to let the fame of being a “hero” get to you (in fact, you absolutely loathe the idea of being treated differently for others because of your accomplishments), but knowing you just made someone happy makes you smile a little. 

You find your way to Eva, dodging Guardians sprinting back and forth. Eva is blissfully oblivious to all this, but she seems to be enjoying herself. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her  _ not _ enjoying herself when she’s on the Tower as a vendor. She chastises you for missing the opening festivities of the Dawning, but doesn’t acknowledge the flurry of people running around like chickens with their heads off.

You hand her the flowers she requested you picked up on your trip to Nessus and she thanks you with a grandmotherly smile. You have no idea what she wants them for, and you don’t ask. The ministrations of Eva Levante are mysterious. She always has some secret planned, some surprise for the holiday festivities. You just hope there isn’t food involved in this particular case. Eating Nessus flora sounds like a bad idea. 

After you bid Eva farewell, you decide to make your way down to the Hangar. Guardians crowd the stairwells. They’re whispering and gossiping and generally taking up space. Ship technicians glare at them as they work, visibly annoyed by the clamour. You just walk past them all, pausing to say hello to the familiar faces that greet you, but nothing more. You’re tired and you don’t have interest in making idle conversation today - you just want to go visit Saint and make sure he’s settling in alright. Then, you’re going to go to your apartment and take a  _ sweet _ nap. 

More Guardians gather in pods in the Hangar Bay proper, enough to form a small army. Everyone wants to get a glimpse at Saint. The brave ones might even talk to him. He’d probably appreciate the socialization after being trapped in the Infinite Forest for so long. It must have been lonely in there with only Vex for company. 

Amanda Holliday greets you with a grunt, also apparently irritated with the quantity of Guardians loitering in her Hangar. A gal’s gotta get her work done, you know. Can’t do shit with Guardians standing around chattering like schoolgirls. You think that maybe you should try to clear some of these people away on your way out to save them from Amanda’s wrath, and also her wrench. 

Saint sees you over his crowd of fans as you approach. He towers over them, absolutely massive in stature even compared to the plethora of titans standing before him. Geppetto and the other Guardians’ Ghosts wheel overhead, laughing and chattering. Your own Ghost looks at you eagerly, and you nod at him. Joyously, he swoops up to join the flock. Saint waves you over eagerly and beckons you to stand beside him. 

“My friends,” he roars, “this is the Guardian that rescued me from the Infinite Forest!” 

Everyone stares at you, and you feel desperately uncomfortable. They all know who you are. The hero of the Red War, the Guardian that avenged Cayde-6, liberator of the Dreaming City… They know of your accolades. And some of them (not a lot, mind you, but enough to make you uncomfortable) look like they have ate an entire lemon at the sight of you. They don’t seem to be pleased that it’s  _ you  _ who brought the legendary titan back. While it hurts that people think of you this way, you think that you might feel the same if you were in their position. One person having all the fame seems unfair. 

The Guardians murmur amongst themselves, and you turn to Saint. “I just came by to see how you’re settling in.” 

“Do not worry about me, my friend.” His voice is bassy, but seems light, somehow. He’s overjoyed. “There is much to get used to, but I will be fine. You are well, yes? Where have you been?” 

“Nessus. Running errands for Osiris, mostly.” 

“Ah, that old coot is running you into the ground, I see.” He claps your shoulder. You stagger a little. You’ve met Saint twice already, but you don’t remember him being so… physical. Boisterous. He makes grand, sweeping gestures with his hands when he speaks. He is big, he is bright. Living up to the legends, you suppose. “Tell him that if I find out you have been hurt doing his dirty work, that I will have to go to  _ him.” _

“He hasn’t contacted you yet?” You lean back to look up at him, surprised. 

“No. Osiris may not have seen me in centuries, but he is still a bastard. He will not answer my messages.” Saint tries to remain jovial, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice. “He will come to his senses in time.” 

“Right, yeah.” You think back to the conversations you’ve had with Osiris about the Sundial and recovering his lost friend. Saint is practically all Osiris speaks about aside from vex theories and factoids about the nature of nonlinear time. It’s odd that he wouldn’t have reached out to speak to the friend he spent hundreds of lifetimes trying to save. 

You clear your throat. “Anyways, I need to get going. It’s been a long few days.” That, and the staring was getting a little uncomfortable. 

“Of course. You must be exhausted.” Saint grabs you by the biceps and turns you to face him. His grip is very firm. He’s definitely holding back, though. “It was good to see you, my friend. You will visit soon?” 

The title of “friend” takes kindly to you. You smile at him. “As soon as I can.” 

“Good. I would be remiss if I did not get to see my guardian again soon.” 

Somehow, you can tell that “guardian” is not capitalized, not a proper noun meant to denote your status as an immortal warrior. You feel it within you that Saint has called you his guardian, his protector. It makes your heart lift. 

You bid Saint goodbye and summon your Ghost. He is delighted to have spoken to Geppetto, he tells you. She’s nice. Saint’s nice, too. They make a good team. 

As you walk back to your apartment on autopilot, you find your mind racing with thoughts of Saint-14. Meeting him has only fulfilled the reputation you’ve heard about for decades. It’s pleasing that there’s such a bright presence on the Tower after all the Last City has been through. The people need a little hope.

As you settle into bed for the nap you’ve longed for, your Ghost snuggling into your pillow beside your head, you think that this is going to be the start of a wonderful friendship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the people have spoken. they want more guardian/saint-14. I am here to deliver and also procrastinate on schoolwork.  
> I'm gonna double update this bad boy and post the second chapter right away because chapter 1 doesn't have all that much happen in it and mostly establishes the circumstances.  
> I really hope I can actually get my shit together and finish this, because I'd really like to! I have (almost) every chapter outlined, and I'm really excited to get to the later stuff.  
> stay tuned for a shmoopy slowburn friends-to-lovers fanfiction in which you are gay (sometimes) for saint-14 and also a mess, and he is the same.  
> feel free to hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if you want to yell about this, o14, and destiny in general! see y'all starside.


	2. The Snack That Smiles Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely forgot to mention last chapter that every chapter is titled after (or references) a song.   
> Chapter 1: [Arrival of the Birds](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Gr2XQOIMaaUH86iOrWGur?si=fsmdYrGATWqXQNWf4kM4yw) by The Cinematic Orchestra  
> Chapter 2 (that's this one!): [Snack](https://open.spotify.com/track/4LrE3GPel06vD9stHrRhcg?si=rOcTM_exTPKbLziEmak9kg) by Shawn Wasabi

“Okay, what next?” Ghost twinkles in your peripheral vision. “A trip to Io? Are we going to visit Sloane? Ooh, what about Mars? Let’s go visit Ana!”

“You got more of these to deliver?” asks Banshee. You can tell he’s barely restraining himself from eating the baked goods you’ve given him. He’s picking at the little box Eva insisted you put them in, desperately trying to untie the little bow. It proves difficult for someone with no fingernails. 

“Yeah, I’m Eva’s delivery person, I guess. She wants to make sure everyone gets at least one box of cookies.” You fish around in the messenger bag you’ve designated to carry your baked goods and pull out a box. This one is embellished with a shiny purple bow. “Next is… Saint!” 

“What’d’ya make for ‘im?” 

“They’re ribbon cookies, I think.”

“Ohh.” He’s still struggling with the package. 

“Do you, like, want help, or…”

Banshee rips the bow off, making eye contact the whole time. 

“Right. Never mind.”

“You give Saint my regards,” he says. He plucks a pastry from the box and appraises it like he might size up a gun. “Tell ‘im I’m here if he wants an upgrade.” 

“Will do. Later, Banshee.” 

The gunsmith gives a sole, gravelly grunt. 

You cross the Tower courtyard while Ghost softly whistles holiday tunes in your ear. The Dawning is in full swing now. Lanterns light the City streets. Warlocks perform fantastic magic tricks for the children down below the Tower. Guardians chase each other through the halls with massive snowballs in tow. Everyone seems to be in at least a little bit of a good mood - even Zavala, whose face visibly softened when you presented him with a box of snickerdoodles earlier that day. It’s brightening. It’s been a couple years since the war now, but it still lifts your spirits to see that things are getting back to normal. 

Saint’s adoring fans have stopped loitering in the Hangar by now, much to the delight of Amanda and her technicians. You wave a brisk hello to her as you pass. You’ve given her cookies already. Eva insisted you call them “chocolate ship cookies.” Amanda was both excited and deeply upset by the pun. 

Saint greets you with his usual vigour when you arrive at  _ The Grey Pigeon.  _ “Ah, my friend!” He throws his arms out wide. You still haven’t figured out if he just likes to gesticulate, or if he’s asking for a hug. Pigeons scatter, flapping loudly, at the boom of his voice. It’s amusing to you that wherever Saint goes, there appears to be birds with him. “To what do I owe this honour?” 

Ghost zips off almost immediately, eyeing Geppetto hanging in the doorway of Saint’s ship. You see them have the beginnings of a silent conversation. Ghost’s points turn and jerk. Geppetto shudders, her iris squinting in what looks like some imitation of a laugh.

“Hey, Saint.” You smile at him. You really can’t help it. His energy is so infectious. “I’ve brought presents.” 

You can practically see his eyes light up behind his helm, but he remains humble. “You did not have to do this.” 

“Eh, it’s no big deal. Besides, you deserve it.” You fish around in your bag for the box again. “Here. All yours.” 

He takes the box of sweets gingerly, looks at it for a moment, and then sets it aside. “My friend, happy Dawning.” He reaches out and clasps his hands around yours, giving them a firm shake. You’re not a tiny person, but his hands positively dwarf yours. 

“Happy Dawning, Saint.” You return the sentiment with another bright smile. “You can crack into those, if you want.” 

“Yes, yes!” He releases you and returns to the box, which he opens with considerably less difficulty than Banshee, despite wearing thick gloves and gauntlets. His posture lifts visibly when he sees the contents. “These look beautiful! Did you make them yourself?”

“Sort of,” you reply. “I helped Eva get the ingredients and bake them, but she did most of the actual cooking.” 

“Ahh, a gift made in collaboration with another is so wonderful. Thank you for this.” He pauses to stare a little more at the cookies. “We should try them! Have you had any yet?”

“No, but don’t waste them on me. They’re a gift!” 

“Nonsense,” he roars. “Gifts are for sharing. Come, let us try some.” 

Saint beckons you to sit on the stairs leading into the  _ Pigeon, _ and you find it difficult to resist him. You slide in next to him, the stairs barely wide enough for both of you. Both a blessing and a curse - his presence is warm, but his armour is  _ very _ sharp. He apologizes briefly.

You’re startled when you hear the seals on his helmet pop as he undoes them. Right - you can’t eat through a helmet. He removes it and places it gingerly behind you two, and you’re struck by the sight of his face. You know he’s an exo - everyone knows - but it’s still shocking to see the face of a legend. Like his classic colours, his facial plating is a mix of silver and violet. His eyes are purple and brilliant. He looks almost… catlike, his face surprisingly soft for one made of metal. 

You realize you’re staring, and quickly look away. 

Saint’s handed you a cookie. “Good health,” he says, and raises his pastry, not wanting to bump it against yours to avoid shattering the cookie. You do the same, and take a bite. It’s great, as all of Eva’s creations are. A good, short cookie, with a lavender flavour that’s not overwhelming. The icing is a nice touch. It adds a sweetness that the cookie itself doesn’t have. 

“Wonderful,” Saint rumbles. “Miss Levante is truly a blessing.” 

“She’s great,” you agree, taking another bite. 

“It is nice to see what the Dawning has become in my absence.”

“Yeah. A lot’s changed, huh?” You finish the cookie and wipe the crumbs onto the legs of your pants. “I should get going. I’ve got more deliveries to make.”

“Eh, already?” You move to stand up, but Saint has grabbed you by the shoulder. A firm grip, but not one you couldn’t get out of if you wanted to. And you don’t want to. “Surely you can stay and chat a while longer. Take some time to breathe. You are a busy Guardian.” 

You look between the bag slung by your hip and Saint’s face. No, you suppose these deliveries aren’t urgent. The moon won’t catch fire if Eris doesn’t get her oatmeal raisins. Still, you feel guilty not doing it right away. Sitting and relaxing has become unfamiliar to you of late.

“I can feel your guilt. Sit, stay with me.” 

“I didn’t know the hero of Six Fronts could read minds,” you say dryly. 

Saint laughs loud enough that the sound hurts your ears. “No, but you are not so difficult to read.” The biolights in his mouth light up, and his eyes squint a little - an imitation of a smile. “You should rest more. Running around like a goblin with no head is not good for you.”

“Probably not, no.”

Against every instinct you have, you sit down.  _ Nobody’s gonna die if you don’t give them cookies, _ you tell yourself.  _ Everything will be okay.  _

You’re uncomfortable at first. Sitting around making idle chitchat with Saint-14 feels… weird, wrong. Like you’re hogging him, taking up his time, keeping him from seeing others. But, after a few short minutes, you ease into it. You talk about everything and nothing - the Infinite Forest, life in the City, the flora of Io, which gun modifications are the best. Saint’s baritone fills your ears for hours, and you don’t get bored of it. It’s easy. It’s easy and it feels good. 

You only think to excuse yourself when the ambient nighttime lighting of the Hangar turns on and you realize it’s long been evening. Talking with Saint was like being in a bubble. You didn’t even notice technicians leaving, or Saint’s flock of pigeons beginning to roost for the night. It’s hard to notice anything when even the insignificant things Saint talks about enrapture you. His presence is all-encompassing, like a warm blanket that’s hard to crawl out of. Also, your stomach has begun to rumble, and you realize it’s way past dinnertime and all you’ve eaten today aside from breakfast is a cookie. 

“Okay, now I should  _ actually  _ get going,” you say after you finish a long conversation on the ethics of meat manufacturing for the City. 

“It’s gotten so late already.” Saint looks to the horizon. “Apologies, I got lost in the conversation.”

“Hey, I stayed willingly. It’s alright. And like you said -” you shift into a poor imitation of his voice - “take time to breathe.” 

He chuckles and pats your shoulder. “Your impression needs some work.”

“I’ll be sure to practice more.” You stand and descend the couple steps to the carpet of Saint’s receiving area. “Hey, Ghost? We’re heading out.” 

There’s a long pause before you hear the mechanical clicking of Ghost’s vocal protocol. “Yes! Coming! Sorry, I was taking a nap.” 

“A nap? Is Geppetto not good company?” Saint asks as Ghost drifts over your shoulder. 

Geppetto materializes beside him.  _ Sometimes it’s nice to be in silence, _ she blinks. 

“I suppose.” Saint stands and joins you on the carpet. His brow plates dip slightly into a frown. It’s hard to read exo expressions, but these last few hours have been enlightening for you. 

“Friend, you will visit again, yes?” He asks you this every time you see him, as if he’s scared you’re never coming back. As if the Forest will reveal this all as a lie and swallow you whole again. You understand the fear. 

“As soon as I can,” you reply, just as you reply every time. “Always.” 

“Of course.” He nods and you can practically hear his inner monologue of reassurance. You almost want to hug him and tell him it’ll be alright, that you’re not going forever. “Thank you for spending the afternoon with me.” 

“Hey, it was great.” You put a gentle hand on his bicep. And then, despite yourself, “We should do this again, yeah?” 

Saint glows. “Yes, whenever you like! When you are in the City and free, I will be here for you.” 

Something in your stomach flips. You ignore it. “Right. See you later, big guy.” 

“Goodbye, Saint! Bye, Geppetto,” chimes Ghost. Geppetto blinks something to him that you don’t understand. Some things are kept between Ghosts, you guess. 

Saint waves and utters a departure. You return to your apartment to cook for yourself, feeling a little lighter. Perhaps Saint was right. Maybe you did need to relax more. 

You certainly have no problem doing so if it means you get to chat with him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! welcome to the end of the chapter. you made it.   
> I did... an unreasonable amount of research for this chapter. I learned what ribbon cookies are, and also apparently that Russians don't do toasts in the way North Americans do. I wanted to have Saint say "cheers" in Russian, but research indicates that that's a bad idea and you will look like an idiot if you do!  
> my references for saint's face were illustrated by [ask-cayde-6](https://ask-cayde-6.tumblr.com/post/168370439469/wip-this-is-the-canon-face-of-saint-14-is) and [beenomorph.](https://twitter.com/perfparadox/status/1211452727215165440?s=20) (give them both a follow!) both of these were referenced from saint's "actual" face, but we don't really have clear screenshots of what that actually looks like, aside from weirdly lit stuff from within his tomb. hopefully I don't get proven wrong by bungie before season of dawn ends lmao!!! can't wait to get owned by game devs. saint took everyone's money to buy pigeon feed and now he's going to take my dignity too   
> also, geppetto hcs - in "the pigeon and the phoenix" lorebook she's described as blinking a lot when she speaks. I've decided that means that she just speaks through blinking her iris.  
> this ends the first two chapters! I haven't started the third yet because I. literally just finished writing this one, so hopefully that'll happen soon. midterm season approaches and I dunno how much time I'll have  
> yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if you want! cheers!


	3. Red Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title insp: [red jack](https://notquitereal.bandcamp.com/track/red-jack) by jack de quidt, because it slaps and also because it's a funny joke.

The energy of the Crucible sings through you as you step onto the Tower deck. There really is nothing like the thrill of a successful match in the Crucible. Your heart thrums, your muscles run with arc electricity, and even the sweat that drips down your back feels good. You’re not amazing in the Crucible, per se, but you’re not bad either, and that makes doing well all the more satisfying. You come out of the match with a huge grin on your face and it doesn’t drop until long after you land back on Earth. 

You’re still shaking a little with joy and excess arc when you approach Shaxx to collect your medals and the rewards for a few bounties you completed. He greets you with open arms. 

“Well done, Guardian!” He pats you on the back - well, you can hardly call it a pat. It’s more like a full-on slap that rattles your entire chest plate. Arcite titters in the background. “You really - pardon the expression - you really killed it out there today.” 

“Thanks,” you reply, breathless half from excitement and half because Shaxx just slapped you so hard. 

Lord Shaxx has all but stopped issuing duplicate physical medals to veteran Crucible players, but he does still hand out a few. He hands you your fifth ever “Seventh Column” medal with his chest puffed out like a proud bird. Your grin returns and you accept it with shaky hands. 

Sometimes, you think it’s weird that you’re proud of killing so many people. One of the oddities of immortality. 

“It’s always a treat to see you fight, Guardian.” Shaxx pats your back again, gentler this time. “Rest on your laurels tonight. You’ve done us proud!” 

If you smile any wider, your face will start to hurt. You thank Shaxx again and make a beeline for the postmaster. Shaxx’s praise always lightens your mood, and today is no exception. Plus, it’s easy to be proud of yourself when you kicked so much ass, and it means even more for others to recognize that. You turn the medal over in your hand as you walk, thinking about how excited you are to pick up your hard-earned gear from Kadi and go home to eat junk food and do nothing of import. 

There’s a line outside the postmaster’s station, so you wait and try to come off the high of the Crucible victory a little. You’re running hot, but the breeze passing through the Tower is cool on your sweaty neck. It’ll be good to strip out of your armour and your undersuit to get into something light and more comfortable. 

You hear him before you see him. His eager footsteps thunder along the Tower floor. “My friend!” Saint booms, scaring the shit out of nearly everyone in the area. He doesn’t seem to care. “I have seen your Crucible match. You were incredible!”

“Oh my,” you hear Kadi say. Everyone has turned to look at you. You begin to sweat again as though you’ve just played another match. 

“Hey, thanks, Saint. It was fun,” you reply sheepishly. 

“You were magnificent. You fight like a machine! I would know!” He laughs at his own joke. You can’t help but giggle. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you feel the warmth through your pauldron. “Truly, it was breathtaking to watch you fight again.” 

“Thanks,” you repeat, not really knowing what else to say. The praise was simultaneously making you uncomfortable and overjoyed. Thankfully, people are starting to turn away and go back to whatever they were doing. That alleviates some of the nervousness, at least. 

“We should play the Crucible together sometime,” Saint continues. The two of you move forward a spot in line. The Guardian that’s just spoken to Kadi looks furtively at Saint as they pass. “I would be honoured to fight by your side.”

“Oh!” You blink a few times and look up at him in surprise. “Really? You’d want to do that?” 

“Of course! What better way to spend time together than fighting together, eh?”

“I can think of at least six ways that don’t involve killing people,” you retort. He snorts a laugh. It’s a charming sound. “But, yeah, if that’s something you want to do, I could find the time. I’d love to do that with you.” 

“Excellent!” He claps you on the back, and you think you’re getting slightly tired of huge men smacking you today. 

Fighting side-by-side with Saint-14… Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought this would happen. Your life thus far has consisted of a  _ lot  _ of things you never thought would happen. This, though… This feels more special. A positive. Being a “hero” comes with a lot of sacrifice. But someone you and your peers have looked up to forever being your friend  _ and _ wanting to partake in something integral to being a Guardian with you is on a whole other level. 

“We should probably talk to Shaxx about it first,” you say thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’ll want you of all people just… jumping into the Crucible.”

“I am not the one he’s going to have to worry about.” Saint’s eyes glint mischievously. “I can headbutt a minotaur better than anyone, but you? You fight Guardians like a thunderstorm.” 

The compliment makes you blush deeply and you look away to try to hide it. “Yeah, sure, but you’re a legend around these parts. He might have to make up new rules, or a medal for shooting you in the head.” 

“Ha, I am just another Guardian. There is no need for special treatment.” The two of you approach the counter. “Kadi, how are you doing?” 

“Very well, thank you,” she chirps. “ID, please, Guardian?” You pass it to her and lean on the counter. The fatigue of fighting is catching up now that the adrenaline has worn off. Saint’s hand still remains between your shoulderblades. You wonder when he’s going to realize how long it’s been there. 

Kadi returns after a moment of shuffling around through some boxes. She presents you with a shiny red fusion rifle. Unloaded, of course. “Have a nice day, Guardian.” 

Saint whistles. The sound is strange and inhuman. “That is a nice gun.” 

“Yes.” Kadi has no mouth, but you can tell that if she did, her lips would be in a tight, mirthless smile. You usher Saint out of the way to avoid her wrath. 

You appraise the gun. Fusion rifles aren’t your favourite, but there’s something special about winning this one. You run your thumb along some print on the side - “Critical Sass,” it says. You snort and your Ghost transmats it away. 

“Not going to try it out?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go home and eat junk food.” 

The little strip of light on his helm glows brighter, and you can tell he’s smiling. “A good use of your time. You’ve certainly earned it.” 

“Thanks, bud.” You pat a part of his arm not covered in spiny armour. It's nice to return his affectionate touches, and he seems elated when you do. "I know I ask every time I see you, but are you settling in alright?" 

"Of course. The people of the City are nothing but hospitable. I am… adjusting well."

You sense a lot of baggage in that last sentence. You've discussed it with him before, albeit briefly. He doesn't want to talk much about his time in the Forest and how strange it's been to adjust to the idiosyncrasies of normal life. He won't say it, but you know it's weird for him to not be fearing for his life every day. Waking up to a static horizon, one that doesn't shift and lie, is welcome, but difficult to accept after centuries of endless wandering. And that's why you ask him every time you see him if he's alright. 

“You should take your leave and get some rest,” he says. “I will not keep you any longer.” 

“Hey, you’re hardly keeping me. But I appreciate the thought.” You smile at him. “See you later.” 

“Safe travels, Guardian.”

“Oh, so you’ll let Saint talk about how good you are, but you won’t let me?” Ghost says to you once you’re a safe distance away, his tone impertinent. 

“That’s different. Your job is to hype me up.”

“I don’t recall negotiating a contract for that.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Ghost blows a raspberry at you. You laugh, swatting at him, and he pecks your head a few times. 

“Traveler, it’s me. Ghost, the Ghost. Why won’t my Guardian listen to me when I tell them how cool I think they are?” He sighs woefully. 

“Oh, shut.” You bonk him gently with your fist. “Let’s go home and order some takeout. I want fries.” 

“Sure,” Ghost says, his playfully antagonistic attitude dissipating immediately. “There’s reruns of that fantasy show you like on tonight.”

“‘That fantasy show.’ You’re an insult to fans everywhere.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall, the feedback on my writing has been overwhelming. I haven’t written for others to read since I was like, publishing edward elric x oc fanfiction on ff.net when i was 11. It’s really remarkable to get all this support from yall. I wanna print out all ur comments and put em on my wall!!! thank you all so much for being so encouraging <3333   
> as a quick note, your guardian's canon subclass is arc, just because it's a little easier for me to write than making it completely ambiguous.   
> i'm having an inordinate amount of fun writing ghost. he's such a little basard   
> as always, shout at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if you so desire!


	4. Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after ["garden"](https://open.spotify.com/track/4Xn6llzlcBkd02iXpySmbs?si=BkuT4xKVQw-yzzyrbF7WWg) by akira kosemura

The Dawning goes on. The days grow shorter and colder. Winter has arrived, and preparations are underway to make sure the City survives the season. Feeding and clothing everyone has long been a concern, especially since the war, but you have a feeling that this winter will be alright. Everyone is in good spirits. 

You trundle into the Hangar early in the morning, a scarf donned over your armour to keep your face safe from the chill. Ghost nuzzles into the fabric near your neck, offline in a peaceful nap. Amanda greets you sleepily and offers you a cup of coffee from the pot she keeps at her station. She’s got no cream or sugar (and somehow it doesn’t surprise you that the spunky shipwright takes her coffee fully black), but you’ll live without it. She’s finally relented to the cold and donned a sweater over her usual gear. You know she keeps those glorious biceps out as long as she can.

“It’s hard to work with extra layers,” she’s explained to you before, but you know it’s really so that she can be extra threatening to any greenhorns that cause her trouble. 

“Good morning, Saint,” you call as you approach his station. He’s un-helmeted, seeming to enjoy the brisk cold on his cheeks. 

“Good morning, my friend,” he replies, jovial as ever, but a little quieter than usual considering the early hour. “You look chilly.” 

He’s right. You’re a little hunched over on yourself, trying to conserve warmth, and you clutch your coffee close to your chest. Your exposed flesh is probably a little red, too. 

“It’s cold this morning,” you reply, tucking your nose into your scarf. “Hey, I heard you’re giving out bounties now?” 

Saint smiles, his eyes brightening. “Yes! Come, let us sit nearer to the  _ Pigeon.  _ It’s warmer over there.” 

“You got something you want to talk about?” 

“Is it a crime to want to chat with my friend?” he retorts. You smile and follow him over to the  _ Pigeon’s _ stairs, playfully rolling your eyes. He sits a couple steps up from you. Trying to fit both of your fully-armoured bodies next to each other has proven difficult in the past. Heat radiates off Saint like a furnace.

“Why are you so hot?” you ask, and immediately regret the wording, but you’re not sure why. 

Saint snorts. “We may be Golden Age tech, but exos are still machines. We have to vent a lot of heat.” He looks down at you. “It is not so bad. And it helps keep our organic friends warm.” 

Your cheeks are pink from warmth instead of windchill now, and again, you’re not sure why. 

“Right,” you say, just to fill the empty air. “Oh, I’ve got more cookies for you. Eva’s really having us churn them out.” You fish around your person and pull out a box. It’s less elaborate than the first one you presented Saint with. 

Saint groans. “I cannot keep up with you Guardians. My whole pantry is full of these!” Regardless, he accepts the box and pats your shoulder in silent thanks. “I can’t even feed them to the birds anymore. They are getting fat, and the sugar is not good for them.” 

You giggle as an image of pigeons the size of dodgeballs crosses your mind. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to get rid of them.”

“Yes. Perhaps next time I go down to the streets, I will bring some with me for the children.”

“Every parent in the whole City will hate you for that.”

“Eh, it is the holidays. The children will be hopped up on sugar at some point anyway. It will be good for them to run around outside.” 

“Always thinking of the people, aren’t we,” you murmur, taking a big sip of your drink. You don’t find yourself relishing in the warmth of the coffee now that you’re sitting next to a veritable space heater. 

“Ah, you wanted bounties, didn’t you?” Saint says suddenly. “I’m sorry, I was distracted.”

“Hey, no big deal. What’ve you got for me?”

You launch into idle conversation with him. He tells you what he needs in between chitchat - kill some Fallen, some Cabal, generate weapon telemetry. It’s nice that you can be more casual with him now. Chewing the fat with him brings you a lot of peace. It’s been difficult to find a space for yourself where you can just exist and not have to live up to someone’s expectations or do a ton of work. Saint doesn’t care. He just wants to spend time with you. It warms your heart. 

“Oh, I have something I want to show you!” He jumps to his feet and scurries down the stairs. “Follow me.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, but take the hand he offers you to help you stand. He holds you by the wrist and tugs you around the back of his ship. You notice strange machinery scattered across the ground. 

“What  _ is  _ all this?” 

“Osiris,” Saint grumbles. “The old fool won’t come visit me, but he asks me to build things for him. But that is not important right now. Come!” 

He takes you under the belly of the ship. You see three rows of tubs filled with… dirt. It takes you a moment to realize what’s going on. It’s a garden, equipped with heat lamps and a drip irrigation system he’s attached to the underside of the  _ Pigeon.  _

“Wow,” you whisper. You gently tap Ghost, and he springs to life, hovering over your shoulder. “What are you growing?” 

“Flowers, mostly.” Saint tugs you over to a planter at the end of one of the rows. “Look, these ones are already sprouting.” 

You recognize the plant, and your Ghost rattles off the scientific name.  _ Tulipa - _ tulips. You’ve seen the sheaths sprouting from the ground on patrol in the EDZ before. Saint seems awestruck by the little green things. 

“What’s inspired this?” 

“Boredom,” he replies. “And Ikora. She told me I need a hobby.” 

“So you chose gardening?”

“Yes. It is important to maintain our connection with nature, especially when we are confined to Towers and ships as we are.”

“I see.” You pensively take another sip of coffee. It’s getting a little lukewarm for your tastes now, but you forgot to drink it while you and Saint were chatting. “What are you going to do with them?” 

“Must they have a purpose?”

“I guess not.”

“I jest.” Saint elbows you gently. “Hopefully, they will brighten up this hangar a little bit when I get them growing more. Steel is only interesting to look at for so long.” 

“Yeah.”  _ And after being in the Forest, it’s probably even worse. _

“Perhaps by the time Crimson Days comes around, I will have enough flowers to give to my loved ones,” he says thoughtfully. “We will see. For now, I will do my best to take care of these little creatures.”

“I think it’s nice that you care so much about wildlife,” you say. “The pigeons, the plants. It’s nice. I think Guardians forget about the little things a lot.” 

Saint rumbles in agreement. “We often forget to stop and look at the world we are trying to save. It is easy to forget about such small matters when we are trying not to get eaten by a brace of thralls.” 

You chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“One day, you should walk the streets below with me. Remind yourself who you’re fighting for.” Saint preens at the dirt as he speaks. Before you can say that you already go down into the City, Saint continues, “I mean  _ really  _ walk around. No purpose in mind, just… observing. Thinking. Taking it all in.”

“Sure. I'd be honoured to do that with you.” That was no exaggeration. It was the truth. 

“It would be valuable. And, you could help me carry some of those cookies down.” He winks, and you smile. “Come, let us talk more while you finish your drink. Staring at these flowers will not make them grow faster."

You stay and chat with Saint for a few minutes longer before dismissing yourself to go on patrol. You’re… touched, needless to say, that Saint trusted you enough to show you his little garden. His enthusiasm about it warmed you on this cold winter day, too. The more time he spends on the Tower, the more he gets into the rhythm of being a person again. It’s good to see him adjusting so quickly. Some people who have been through trauma like his don’t bounce back like he has. 

That night, you dream of endless fields of brilliant red tulips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saint-14 says: it’s important to have a hobby. All work and no play makes a sad guardian.  
> thank you as always for the engagement with this fic!!! it rly means a lot <333 chapter 5 is already complete (needs to be edited tho) and chapter 6 is in the works so... yeehaw!!!  
> feel free to yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad)


	5. Interlude 1: Leave, Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after [be, leave](https://open.spotify.com/track/1NdgOyzoqE6FHIm7tM5ySM?si=DbWP500sRJeWySJmy3zH3w) by slow fade sailors

“I believe that’s everything on the agenda that we need you present for today, Guardian,” Zavala says cooly. He smooths his hands over the various papers and datapads in front of him on the meeting table. “Thank you for your attendance.”

“Happy to help.” You roll forward on your toes, hands behind your back. Meeting with the Vanguard is a dreary experience for everyone involved, but it’s unfortunately necessary. As someone of considerable importance, Zavala and Ikora are obligated to check in on you. It’s not often they have much control over any of the pieces on their grand chessboard. Frankly, you’re happy you can be of any assistance to them at all; they’re always stressed to hell and back, and it’s good that you can at least offer them an iota of control, even if it means sitting through meetings so boring your spine slides out of your body. 

“Shall we dismiss them, then?” Ikora asks, eyeing her partner. 

“Yes. Ah, actually, I have something else I want to ask about.” 

“Shoot, sir,” you reply.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Saint-14.” It’s phrased like a statement, but sounds more like a question. 

“Yes, that’s true.” Why the hell is he asking? Does he suspect something? You have nothing to hide. Or do you? You don’t know. Your palms start to sweat. 

“I’m just curious about how he’s been adjusting.” You find yourself relieved. “It’s been a few weeks now, and I would like to know if he needs additional support.”

“Oh.” You unclench your hands a little. “You can’t ask him yourself?”

“I have been too busy,” Zavala replies, not making eye contact.

“We’re all busy, Zavala,” Ikora interjects, also refusing to make eye contact with either of the other parties in the room. “That’s no excuse not to visit an old friend.”

There it is. You’ve sensed it for months. There’s been tension between the two remaining members of the Vanguard for ages now. You don’t ask - it’s not really appropriate - but you know losing Cayde has had a bad impact on their relationship. His death bent them both out of shape, probably beyond repair. You remember the day you brought him home, when Ikora called Zavala a coward, and you wish you were composed enough to have interjected. Maybe they wouldn’t hate each other so much now. After all that happened, it really breaks your heart to see them fighting like this. And you know neither of them will talk about it, either, because they’re both too stubborn for their own good.

The silence stretches the air thin, and you have to break it before your head explodes from stress. “He seems fine,” you blurt. “I’ll ask him if he needs anything from you."

"Very good." Zavala's voice is crisp like a harsh winter morning. "Dismissed, Guardian."

"Yessir." You do a small bow. "Ikora." She nods at you, and you beat the fastest retreat humanly possible. When the doors close behind you, you sigh involuntarily. 

"Yikes," says Ghost. "You could cut that with a knife."

"I know." You rub your left temple. You didn't realize how hard you were clenching your jaw during the last leg of that interaction. "I wish they'd talk to each other."

"Oh, they certainly do a lot of that." Ghost spins the rear half of his shell. "Just… Not about the right things."

"Yeah," you mutter. "I… should ask Saint if he needs anything. I know Zavala will dog me if I don't."

"I can ping Geppetto," he offers. 

"Nah, I can text him myself."

"It'd be faster if I did it." You lift your shoulder in response as you pull out your communicator. "Oh, I see how it is."

"Nothing personal, bud," you say, typing rapidly. The message is terse, formal. You don't have the energy to perform happiness over text right now. "Well, I feel like shit now."

"No kidding," Ghost agrees. "Wanna go home?" 

"Nah, I'll just mope. I might ask Eva if she needs help with more baking. She overworks herself."

"Good idea!" Ghost bobs up and down in agreement. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon with Eva Levante, baking hundreds of confectionaries, and you find yourself feeling better and forgetting about the tension between the people you might have called friends once. Eva knows how to cheer people up, and her stories are magnificent. She's not a Guardian, but she's lived a long and fulfilling life. Plus, she's got that sharp grandmotherly wit that comes out when you least expect it. Keeps you on your toes while you beat your millionth batch of batter that afternoon. 

When you finally check your communicator later that afternoon, you have three messages from Saint. 

_ No, I do not need anything from them, but thank them for asking.  _

_ Are you alright? You don't usually take this tone when you message me  _

_ My friend, you know I am here to talk if you need me  _

You sigh and shake your head. Old worry wart.

_ Thanks for the concern, but I'm good. I was just with Eva this afternoon  _

_ You're gonna get a lot more cookies  _

_ Traveler preserve me  _

_ I am glad you are not upset. I was worried  _

_ Thanks for lookin out for me big guy _

_ If you do need to talk ever you know where to find me.  _

_ Especially about vanguard business. I have many good stories about young zavala.  _

You don't know how he can pick up on your moods like this so easily. Maybe being in the Forest for so long gave him mind reading powers. Regardless of that, you leave Eva's kitchen with a slight spring in your step that you didn't have before you checked your communicator. Sometimes, life is rough, but you have friends that care about your happiness, and sometimes that's all that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sticks vanguard polycule angst into everything i can get my little gay hands on]  
> Sorry for how short this one is, + also how there’s not a lot of saint. Hopefully the next chapter makes up for it. It’s gonna be a DOOZY!!!!!!!!!!!!! I finished writing it shortly before posting this and uhhh kinda fucked myself up doing so lol. i like to give myself a buffer of about one chapter before I post the next one, and I haven't started chapter 7 yet, but hopefully I'll have that finished soon so you all can read some tender angst. i've been trying to update every other day or so bc i'm churning this bad boy out so fast to de-stress. the next chapter is also 3000 words so UHHH LOL   
> as always, thank you for your support, and you're welcome to hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad)!


	6. Mirror, Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after ["spiegel im spiegel"](https://open.spotify.com/track/3Y2hAo4gsZ2oknPnJcYx67?si=hLjEzuaDT_K8H5uRJH5-vw) by arvo part (don't listen unless you like crying)  
> CW for ptsd, ptsd-related nightmares, discussions of violence (somewhat canon-typical)

You dream.

Well, you would hardly call it that. “You dream” implies active participation in the events your mind creates. This is much more nightmarish. You have no control. Your head is in a vice, forcibly trained on whatever atrocity your brain is forcing you to relive right now. 

You see the City fall. Plumes of smoke choke you. Ghaul’s foot cracks your ribs. You plummet hundreds of feet from the deck of his ship. All of humanity cries out as the Red Legion pillages their last hope at civilization. 

You see the Farm and its acres of refugee camps. The lightless Guardians that wander to and fro, lost without their power. Some of them have no Ghosts anymore, but remain alive. The lines under Hawthorne’s eyes grow deeper with every passing day. Louis looks thin. 

The Vanguard on the rooftop, guarding the vex teleporter that will take you to Ghaul. Zavala looks inches from death. Ikora, bowed over a railing, begs you to make this _matter._ And Cayde - _Cayde -_ missing an arm and a leg, dragging himself to the teleporter. You reach out for him, and your dreamscape shifts. 

He’s dying in your lap. Some sort of fluid leaks from the corner of his mouth. You try so hard not to look at the gaping chest wound sucking the life out of him. You cover it with a hand, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, but it does about as much good as it did when it happened in reality. The twisted spectre of Uldren Sov’s voice taunts you from somewhere far away. The light fades from Cayde’s eyes.

You see Osiris now, the capricious warlock you’ve grown so fond of, standing in a room of Mercury sandstone tucked somewhere in the Infinite Forest. He stands over a podium with a massive tome open on it. His head is in his hands and he sobs. He says nothing, but you know the cause of his tears. Nothing but the loss of his dearest friend would make him so distraught. 

Uldren’s haunting orange eyes stare you down. He looks at you and screams the way he did when the Taken chimera had consumed him, and then levels his gun at your chest and shoots. The bullet passes through you. You feel no pain. You turn and see Cayde, and when you rush to try to futilely cover the bullet wound again, it’s Saint’s face instead of Cayde’s. You yell, and the ceiling collapses on top of you. 

When you scramble out of the way of the debris, it’s not a pile of stone in front of you, but dozens of vex frames stacked on top of each other in various states of dismemberment. A gauntleted hand spears the middle of the pile, purple ribbons curled around its fingers, tangled in its armour. The Ghost caught in its palm blinks gibberish at you. As you approach, she dies with a whine. You dig through the bodies to uncover Saint, and when you find him, his eyes are empty. 

\--

You wake up hyperventilating. You hear Ghost trying to talk to you, but all you can do is dive under your pillow and clamp it over your ears until the panic passes. He worries at your fingers, not trying to move them, but just letting you know he’s there. You’ll thank him later. 

That was the first - and the worst - in a while. The nightmares had stopped plaguing you every night since shortly before the Dawning started and Saint arrived. You have no idea what triggered this. You thought you were doing good. Recovery is nonlinear, you suppose, but it’s still concerning that this seemed to happen apropos of nothing. Your brain just can’t let you be happy, can it? 

You take the pillow off your head after a few minutes of poor attempts at deep breathing finally start to work. You’re not having a full on panic attack anymore, but you’re still not fully back. You clutch your sheets to your chest and squeeze, trying to ground yourself. 

“Hey, everything’s okay right now,” says Ghost. You actually have the capacity to pay attention to him now. His voice is soothing. You can hear him purring subvocally, trying to use the noise to soothe you. “You’re in your apartment. You’re safe.” 

_I know,_ you want to retort, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything right now. Ghost settles on the pillow in front of you, systems humming in a pleasing replication of white noise. You reach out for him with one hand and trace the curves and corners of his shell. Solid, real. You open your eyes and he’s there, still real. You know this is reality now, but the sight still brings you some peace. 

“This fucking sucks,” you finally grumble after several minutes of trying to practice being mindful and grounded. Sometimes those exercises work, and sometimes they don’t, and tonight is one of the latter times. You’re not panicking, but you still feel terrible. You chalk it up to being out of practice since this hasn’t happened in a while.

“Yeah,” Ghost murmurs. “Should we get your sleeping pills?” 

“No. I don’t wanna go back to sleep,” you reply.

“You have to rest…”

“Just cancel whatever I’m supposed to do tomorrow. Today. What time is it?” 

“Three in the morning.”

“Fuck.” You sigh loudly and reach for your communicator. Nothing important for you to answer right now, just mandatory Vanguard updates and some notifications about discounts from the Japanese place down the road. 

“You really want me to cancel everything tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tell them I’ve got that cold that’s going around.”

“Um. Guardians don’t get colds.” 

“Ah.” Your brain fails you once again. “I don’t know. I just need a day.” 

“No foul in taking a day off.” 

“Yeah.” 

You roll onto your back and look at the small device in your hands again, pondering the messaging app. Not really thinking, you open your conversation with Saint. The two of you don’t text very much - you see each other enough in person that it’s not necessary. Now, though…

_Hey Saint, you awake?_

His response comes a few minutes later. 

_Yes friend. What has you up at this hour?_

_Not doing too great, need someone to chat with_

_Ahh, I see. The night can be a troublesome time._

_Where are you located? I will come keep you company_

_Oh, I’m good to just talk over text_

_You don’t have to come all the way over here_

_Too late! I have already asked Geppetto to ping your Ghost_

_I will be over soon_

You drop the communicator onto your chest. “Ghost, I swear to god -”

“You need a friend!” He bounds off your pillow and spins in the air. “I’m your friend, too, of course - uh, I hope - but sometimes, you need another person. Physically.”

You raise a very judgemental eyebrow at him.

“In physical proximity to you!” He corrects himself, and then flies near the ceiling in a huff. “Look, I - I just don’t want this to be one of the bad nights, okay? I don’t wanna see you like that again.” 

You look away from him. Yeah, you don’t particularly want to spend the rest of what’s supposed to be your sleeping hours having a mental breakdown. Having company might help stop that, but you’re not especially interested in someone aside from your Ghost seeing you like this either. Not like you really have a choice now. At least Saint is nice and you feel safe around him. You sigh and roll over to stand up and change out of your pyjamas. 

“That’s my Guardian,” Ghost says proudly, and musses your hair. 

You throw on a thick t-shirt and some joggers before meandering into the kitchen. You haven’t had guests in… a while. A long while. You don’t have a lot of friends that can spare the time to come over often. Is tea acceptable to serve guests who come to your house before the sun rises? You hope so. You’re going to make some for yourself anyway, so you might as well put on two cups. You pull out your favourite mug (a large cup that says “#1 Ghaul Killer” in Vanguard colours - it was a gift from them, Cayde’s idea) and a second mismatched mug for Saint with the Omolon logo on it that Banshee handed off to you once. 

Saint arrives long after the kettle boils with a soft, polite knock on your door. You’re both surprised and not to see him out of his armour. No point in suiting up just to go to your friend’s place, you suppose, but it’s still weird to see him without the iconic helmet. Geppetto eyes you sleepily from the hood of his sweater. 

“Good evening,” Saint says.

“Morning,” Geppetto beeps. 

“Yes, I guess that would be more correct.” 

“Hey, thank you for coming.” You try to smile, but you’re very tired. “I made tea.”

“Ah, so kind.” You gesture for him to come in and he does. You shut the door quickly. Your feet are chilly just from it being open for a few seconds. Saint takes off his shoes and appraises your apartment. 

“Any kind of tea you like?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he says absently, observing the weapons and artwork hanging from your walls. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, of course. I am not picky.” He smiles, seeming to enjoy your interior decorating. 

“Alright. Kitchen’s this way.” You lead him further into your apartment. Ghost zips out of your bedroom upon hearing you walk inside and chirps excitedly to Geppetto. It warms your heart to see that the two get along so well. 

Saint makes himself comfortable at your kitchen table while you finish fixing the tea. “You are… not well?” He prods gently. You’re not about to hide it - he already knows. What’s the point in pretending you’re invulnerable?

“Yeah,” you murmur, pouring hot water over the teabags you’ve put in your mugs. “You ever get nightmares?” 

Saint laughs. “I am an exo,” he says, as though that explains everything. And it does - it takes you a moment to process. You’ve heard of the exo dream, the one where they have to kill everyone they’ve ever met in order to reach the Deep Stone Crypt. 

“Right.” You join him at the table, internally reminding yourself to keep track of the time so you don’t end up with tea strong enough to corrode metal. “I’ve been fine for so long now… I have no idea what triggered this.” 

“Sometimes, when we feel safe, our minds create danger.” Saint stretches an arm across the back of the chair next to him. It’s casual, and not something you’re especially used to seeing from him. “When you have been through as much as we have, your brain does not know how to cope with peace.”

“Yeah. It’s just stupid. I -” You rake a hand through your hair. “I thought I was over it.”

“Trauma does not leave us so easily. It is not ‘stupid’ that you still struggle with it.” He extends his hand across the table. An invitation. “And it does not help,” he continues, eyes twinkling, “that you refuse to rest and take the time to heal from it.” 

You huff loudly. “It’s easier to just keep going.” 

“Even the feistiest of Sparrows needs cooldown time,” Saint reminds you. You scoff. You’d expect that kind of philosophizing from a warlock, not him. “You may have slayed gods, but you need to rest as much as everyone else.” 

“I guess,” you mutter, but you don’t agree. You know, deep down, that he’s right, but the idea of stopping makes you fidgety. 

“Every day I hear tales of your exploits. You are on Mercury, helping my brother Osiris. Next you are on Mars helping Ana Bray. Then you are assisting Eris Morn on the Moon. At some point, you must slow down. This is your body telling you to do so.” He retracts his hand finally. “I admire your strength, my friend, but you must stop. You will burn out.”

“Sure.” You stand up and turn to attend the teas. They aren’t nearly ready yet, but you don’t want Saint to see your face right now. You feel like you might cry again. 

“I can feel you pushing me away.” Damn him. He is far too perceptive of your moods. “What is it about slowing down that is so unappealing to you?” 

“If I stop, everything catches up.” Your tone has gone sour, and you don’t have the energy to police it back to something more agreeable. “I can’t let that happen. There’s work to be done.” 

“The universe will not end if you take a few days off.” 

“Who else is gonna make up for me, Saint? I don’t see people lining up to fix time on Mercury, or repair infrastructure on the Farm, or maintain security on the Shore.” You grip a spoon tightly and begin stirring in your mug. The metal digs into your hand and the pain anchors you. 

“My friend,” he says softly, “sit down.” 

“The tea -”

“Sit.” His voice is gentle, but it’s a command. You release the spoon, sigh, and slide back into your chair. You hang your head. You don’t want to look at him. “You are tired. I see it in everything you do. You need to rest before you break at a time less opportune than when you’re lying in the safety of your own home.” 

“I can’t,” you say. It sounds more like a sob than a sentence.

“You can. I will help you.” He leans across the table now, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. He holds you down, keeping you from drifting. His palms are warm. “I have all the free time in the world. I will talk to Zavala and get you time off. The system will not fall apart if you take a few days to relax.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You still don’t look at him. You feel Ghost prodding at the edges of your mind, asking to comfort you. You push him away. You hear the soft whirr of a motor as he spins worriedly near your head. 

“You are not asking. I am doing this of my own accord because I care about you. I do not want to see you break.” You fidget anxiously, and Saint puts a little more pressure on your hand. It’s not uncomfortable. His violet gaze bores into you, and you still can’t look at his face. “I understand that it is hard to ask for help when others expect you to be a bastion of strength. This is why we have friends that care for us. They can ask for us when we cannot.” 

“Saint…” Your eyes grow hot with tears. It’s been… a long time since someone has treated you with such tenderness. You don’t know how to react to it. Your body wants you to reject it, to lash out and tell him to fuck off, how dare he presume such weakness within you. Another part of you, one that sounds suspiciously like your Ghost, begs you to accept the help. A third section of your brain wants to curl up into a tight little ball and wink out of existence. You don’t know which one to listen to. 

“My guardian.” The words feel like a stab to the heart. “Let me help you as you helped me.” 

“I did what I had to,” you protest. The tears fall. You can’t stop them anymore. 

“You did far more than you know.” His tone is more earnest than you’ve ever heard it, and Saint is not an obscure man. He wears his heart on his sleeve. “Please,” he says, barely a whisper. “I cannot lose you again, especially not to your own darkness.” 

“Okay,” you reply, swiping at your eyes with your free hand. “Okay.”

Saint squeezes your hand and holds it for a while longer. You find yourself desperately leaning into the contact as you cry in front of humanity’s greatest hero. Some rational but irrational, horribly romantic part of your brain clings to the fact that Saint-14 is holding your hand. 

Why do you feel more broken by being shown kindness than you do by the universe throwing every horrible thing it has in its arsenal at you? 

Minutes pass. Saint lets go of your hand, and you find yourself missing the warmth. He stands up and moves behind you to fix your teas. You protest, but he puts a hand on your shoulder, and that’s enough to silence you. You hear him remove the tea bags, and a paper towel appears in the corner of your eye. Ah, right, you’re getting goobies everywhere. Crying is disgusting. You think about quietly trying to blow your nose, but Saint has already seen you with snot running down your face, so you don’t bother. Saint asks you how you like your tea. 

“One milk, two sugars,” you reply. Your voice is thick, and you clear your throat. Saint finishes what he’s doing and returns to the table, sliding your mug in front of you. You let the steam from the tea waft into your face, hoping it might clear your sinuses. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this.”

“Nonsense,” he says. “I am happy to help if it means I can return to you even a fraction of what you have given me.” 

Normally, you enjoy basking in Saint’s flattery, but tonight it feels wrong. “Why do you always say that?”

Saint looks surprised. “Because it’s true. You shaped me into the man I am today. I would not be the Guardian I am without you.” 

“But I didn’t _do_ anything that didn’t have to be done,” you insist. 

“You went above and beyond for me.” Saint sips his tea. “You didn’t have to help that old buzzard search all of reality for me, but you did. You went through hell to bring one man back from the dead because another was sad about it. And in doing so, you brought me hope I thought I would never see again. You brought Osiris hope, too, though he won’t admit it.” 

“I did it because he asked me to.”

“And you could have said no!” His voice is louder than it has been during this conversation, but not in a way that carries anger. He seems delighted, awed. “Despite all your other responsibilities, every burden you carry, you still came to help us. I think that is honourable. 

“Even if you say you did it ‘because you had to,’” he continues, “I think that indicates you have a strong sense of duty to do what is right. You don’t find that virtue in just anyone.” 

You swirl your mug around thoughtfully. You don’t believe a word he’s saying. You aren’t _virtuous,_ you just do what’s needed. But maybe… maybe Saint’s got some merit. He didn’t get to be the most famous titan ever without being good and caring for others. You pocket his words to think about later. 

“You’re too kind to me.” 

“Ha, I could sing your praises in any number of masterpieces and you would not believe me. Very well.” His eyes have a mischievous glint to them. “If you will never believe me, I suppose I will just keep complimenting you anyway.”

“Saint…”

“I joke. If It makes you uncomfortable, I will stop. But know this.” He reaches his hand across the table again. You accept the invitation, placing your fingers in the cradle of his palm. “You are my hero, Guardian, and you are a hero to many others as well. Your actions have touched everyone in this system. You are _good._ ” He squeezes your fingers. “And I hope one day you will see that, too.” 

You stare into the abyss of your tea and take a very long sip.

Saint keeps you company until long after the sun rises. Your conversation falls into its usual rhythm. Everything and nothing, important and insignificant, all at once. The familiarity brings you comfort, and tonight, you need all of that precious resource you can get. You even laugh once or twice. The brightening of Saint’s eyes at the sound makes your heart warm. 

Saint has to leave eventually, though. He has Guardians to see at his post and bounties to give out. You’re loath to watch him go, wanting this private moment of yours to last forever, but you know he has to leave. 

“Thank you for everything, Saint,” you say as he puts on his shoes. “You really didn’t have to come all the way over here for me.”

“It is no problem. I can’t stress that enough.” He laces his boot. “I am happy to be here for you when you need me.”

“Thank you,” you say again.

“I will tell Zavala that you need some days to heal. Do not worry about dealing with him. He cannot say no to me.” Saint’s eyes form little half moons in a smile. “You can’t spend all your days alone, though - I will contact you if I think of something to do.” 

“Okay. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Again - it is no problem.” He straightens from tying his shoe. A silence hangs between the two of you for a small infinity. He decides to move first, putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into an affectionate side hug. You’re a little startled at first, but you eventually reciprocate, sliding your arm around his waist and giving him a squeeze. His warmth and the soft fleece of his sweater make you feel safe. “Good day, my friend. Rest well.”

“Take it easy,” you say in response. You watch him leave with a wave, and Geppetto blinks a goodbye at you. She hasn’t moved from Saint’s collar, sitting there bundled up like a content cat. 

“Goodbye!” Ghost calls after them. When they’re out of sight, you shut the door and sigh. “You’re welcome,” Ghost teases, but there’s not much force behind it. 

“Thank you, little buddy.” You lean against the wall and hold out a hand for him to perch on. He flutters into your palm and you place a kiss on his top point. “I know I can be crusty sometimes.” 

“Oh, you sure can.” He floats up a few inches and spins his frame. “But I still love you.” 

“Unfortunate.”

“You’re stuck with me,” he sings, following you as you walk to the kitchen to clean off your mugs. Your apartment is no more silent than it usually is, but it feels cavernously empty without Saint in it. 

As you move through your morning, you find yourself longing for the next time you’ll get to see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wkQSF3TdQU)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad)


	7. The Warmth of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after [the warmth of love](https://notquitereal.bandcamp.com/track/the-warmth-of-love) by jack de quidt

On the second of the three days off you’ve been allotted, Ghost receives a ping from Geppetto. 

“Saint’s asked you to meet him at the base of the Tower,” Ghost says. “He said to wear something comfortable. You’re going on a walk.”

“He wants to take me through the City,” you say, connecting the dots. He’s mentioned before that it’s something he does and wants to do with you. Good for your health, or something. And who are you to say no? You’ve been feeling better since the last time you saw him, and it would be good to get outside. “Yeah, sure. Tell him I’ll meet him down there in… twenty minutes?” 

“Can do,” Ghost chimes.

You throw on some exercise pants and a sweatshirt to wear under your coat. It’s nice to leave your apartment and not have to think about putting on armour. While it’s not so much of a hassle to put on because your Ghost can just transmat it, wearing it gets uncomfortable very fast. You’re happy to just go out in athleisure wear. 

Saint is surprisingly hard to pick out in a crowd when he’s not wearing his iconic helmet and armour. His figure is still just as imposing, but he’s considerably smaller. He leans against a wall, staring at something on a small tablet in his hand, and doesn’t notice you until you call out to him. 

“My friend!” He throws an arm up to wave as you approach. Several passers-by are startled by the boom of his voice. He looks sheepish when he sees them skitter away. “Thank you for coming.”

“What, did you think I was gonna sit in my room for three days?” You elbow him playfully. “You know I’m a busybody.” 

“I am happy to see you regardless.” He smiles at you. “Come, let us walk.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, falling into step beside him.

“Nowhere in particular.” He shortens his strides so that you’re not half-jogging to keep up with him. It’s not often that the two of you walk in tandem like this. “Hopefully, we will find some birds to feed these cookies to.” He pulls a box out of his jacket pocket and rattles it. 

You laugh. “Oh, you weren’t kidding when you said you were going to try to pawn them off to the wildlife.”

Saint looks genuinely wistful. “I cannot eat all of these, Guardian, no matter how much I try. It’s simply too many cookies!” 

You make small talk as you walk the streets at a leisurely pace. You haven’t seen him in person since the other night, but he’s been checking in on you to make sure you haven’t wasted away in a fit of depression. You find yourself missing his physical presence the longer you’re away from him. He’s just so… comforting. You feel protected when he’s around. Even the chilly winter breeze bites a little less as you walk by his side. 

People wave at Saint as you pass storefronts and apartment complexes. Some of them are Guardians who recognize him, and others are clearly civilians he has met before. They wouldn’t have recognized him without his helmet. Saint waves back and says hello to all of them. You wonder if, and how, he remembers them all. You’ve played multiple rounds of the Crucible with Guardians whose names you still can’t remember, and here Saint is greeting strangers on the street like he’s talking to friends he hasn’t seen in a while. It’s like he’s some sort of village hero from the Dark Ages. Maybe he was one back then. It would fit his personality. 

The people of the Last City are thriving. You haven’t taken much time to wander around down here - too busy - and so you haven’t seen how much they’ve bounced back since the Red War. Everything you’ve missed about the pre-war City has returned with a fresh coat of paint and smiles bright enough to outshine the Traveler. It warms your heart, and it reminds you what you’ve been fighting for this whole time. Killing Scorned Barons, scavenging strange technology for Osiris, maintaining the Martian Warmind… it’s all been for these people. 

Saint notices your good mood. “What has you smiling so?” he asks as you stroll past a small park. Children play on a swing set there, cheeks cherry-red from the winter chill. 

“Just thinking about how nice it is to see the City doing so well,” you reply. “I don’t… get down here nearly often enough.”

“I know.” Saint’s brow plates wiggle. “That is why I brought you down here. It is good to remind ourselves that we do things for others, not just to survive until the next dawn.” 

“It sure is,” you murmur. One of the kids at the park trips and falls on his face, and you wince, but he just gets up and keeps running, laughing ecstatically. Human resilience is a marvel. 

You walk for the better part of an hour, passing cafes and curio shops, small family businesses and restaurants. The City is back to its old charm, for sure. You see a few store names you recognize from before the war, and you’re overjoyed to see that they’ve returned to business. You’ll have to pay them a visit sometime. 

Eventually, Saint guides you two into a secluded park. You sit on a bench in silence for a while, and then Saint pulls out his box of cookies. Pigeons and other small birds flock to you almost immediately, seeking the sweet reward of confectionaries. 

“I’m starting to think you have some sort of psychic ability that lets you communicate with birds,” you say, watching Saint crumble a cookie and scatter it to the birds. 

“Ha, I just know what they like. And I am sure they talk to each other.” He breaks another cookie in his hand. “‘The big man with the helmet will give you grains,’” he says in a strange voice. 

“D’you think that’s all they think about? Food, I mean.” 

“Probably.” He wipes some icing onto his pants. Of course, exos have no tongues. He wouldn’t be able to lick it off. “They have no natural predators here, except for maybe local cats and dogs and the occasional errant Sparrow.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Saint hands you a cookie, and you feel hundreds of beady eyes focus on you. These birds may be herbivores, but they’re looking at you like they might tear you apart and eat your flesh. You suppose it’s not the worst way to die. You can see the headlines now: Hero of the Red War Killed by Ravenous Flock of Pigeons. You’d be okay with that. You quickly crumble the cookie in your hand and toss its remains to the birds, who proceed to fight and bicker over it. They devour it in seconds and look to you expectantly for more. 

You continue scattering crumbs to the birds in silence for a few minutes. Saint seems lost in thought. Finally, he speaks: “Have you heard of this ‘Dawning ball’ the Consensus is hosting?” 

“Uh, no. Ghost made me turn all incoming communication from the Vanguard off.”

Saint chuckles. “Good on him. But, yes - the Consensus is hosting a ball to celebrate the end of the season. I have been asked to attend. You likely have, as well.” 

“Mm.” You pop a bit of cookie in your mouth. “Sounds like it’ll be pretty uptight.” 

“Likely. Will you go?” 

“I dunno. Maybe? I’m not really a party person, but free food is free food…” You pick a bit of icing off the cookie in your hand. “And I might get to see Zavala lose it at Executor Hideo, so I think that alone would be worth it. But, we’ll see.” 

Saint hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything. 

You’re not opposed, per se, to going to this party. It’s just strange to be invited to things that are for people so much more… special than you. You know Saint would chastise you if you said that aloud, but it’s true. You’re not some mythical figure. You just help people out a lot. Plus, you’re not super comfortable being paraded around and leveraged for political gain. The members of the Consensus, aside from the Vanguard, are generally skeevy and you try to stay away from them. 

Whatever. That’s a decision for future you. Right now, you’re on vacation. 

“Would you like to hold a bird?” Saint asks suddenly. You blink in confusion.

“Hold… Don't they have, like, germs?” 

Saint cracks a smile, and then laughs. “We are Guardians, friend. These birds can hardly hurt us.” 

“Oh, right.” It’s remarkable how often you forget your immortality. “Um, won’t they be uncomfortable?”

“Pigeons do not mind being held so much. And these ones are used to people.” He drops his hand low to the ground, waving a cookie to bait some birds closer to him. When they approach, he grabs one. The pigeon struggles for a moment, but then realizes it’s alright, and relaxes. Saint holds it like a sandwich - firm enough to keep it in place, but not enough to squish it completely. “See? He is fine, aren’t you, my bird?” He scratches it under the chin, and its little eyes roll back with delight. No natural predators indeed. These birds are fearless. Even a massive robot man picking them up only unsettles them for a little bit. 

“Here, take him.”

“No, I can’t -”

“Take him, Guardian. He will not bite!” Saint holds the pigeon out to you. It stares. You stare. “He will let you know when he wants down.” 

“O-okay,” you say, very uncertain. You hold out your hands like you’re grasping an invisible sandwich, as Saint is, and he moves the bird in your direction. You clasp your hands over his, and he slides them out from under you. As always, you’re shocked by how warm he is in this cold. 

The bird blinks its eyelids individually, appraising you. It seems to decide you’re alright, for it begins to preen some feathers on its shoulder. Its little beak pokes you gently. Awed, you hold it up at face level. Its eyes are empty. Yep, nothing but thinking about seeds going on in there. You wish you could turn your brain off like that. 

“You do not have to hold him so awkwardly. You can cradle him.” He brings his hands to his chest. “Like a baby.” 

“Oh.” You rearrange your hands so that it’s less awkward to hold him the way that Saint indicates and pull him closer to you. The bird nuzzles your chest like it’s trying to siphon the warmth from you. 

“There you go.” Saint’s voice glows with pride. “They like to be scratched on the neck, like this.” He reaches over and scritches the back of the bird’s neck, his knuckles brushing the front of your shirt. You flinch, and he notices and retracts his hand, but says nothing. You scratch the bird, and it coos in appreciation. The sound reverberates through you. It’s surprisingly deep for such a small creature. 

“I think he likes me,” you say, trying not to disturb the bird with the fluctuations of your chest.

“Yes, he does.” 

Moments later, the bird decides he’s had enough, and he wriggles, trying to get out of your grip. You put him on your knee, and he jumps away, flapping noisily as he glides back to his friends. Not the stealthiest of birds. 

“I can’t believe you can just… do that.” You wipe your hands on your shirt. You didn’t realize how oily the bird’s feathers were until you let go. 

“They can sense a good heart. They know you mean them no ill intent.” 

“Aw, don’t say that. You’ll make me blush.” 

Saint is silent at that, and your mouth gets very dry. 

“I love free new friends,” you say hurriedly, looking away and pretending to search for a tissue in your coat pocket. 

“It is nice,” Saint agrees, “to have so many small friends wherever you go.”

You finish disposing of Saint’s cookies and then resume walking for another long while. Saint seems… troubled in a way that you could only pick up from him by being as close to him as you are, both physically and friendship-wise. You don’t ask him about it. You don’t want to ruin the peaceful walk you’re having by prodding at barriers that perhaps aren’t yours to break. Maybe you’ll message him about it later. 

You realize that you’ve looped back around to your apartment at some point. “Ah, this is me,” you say. “Did you plan this?”

“Perhaps!” His biolights glow with a smile. “Did you enjoy our outing?” There’s a hesitance in his voice you can’t quite trace the origin of. You try not to frown. 

“Yeah, it was great. Nice to see the city again. Thank you for taking me.” You give his upper arm a gentle smack. “And, hey, thanks for getting me this time off. I… needed it, as much as I don’t want to admit it.” 

“I know.” His eyes get that mischievous glint that appears when he knows he’s right. “It is important for us to look after our loved ones when they are not doing so well.”

You swallow as you think about how you neglected to ask about his low mood. “Yeah, definitely. See you later?”

“Always, my friend.” He returns your arm pat. “Should you need me, you know where to find me.”

“You too, buddy. I’m just a message away.” You smile, and he gives you another friendly side-hug like the one he gave at your apartment before departing, Geppetto in tow.

_ Do you think he was off at all for that last bit? _ You ask Ghost as you ride the elevator up to your apartment.

_ No, why? _

_ Hm… maybe I’m reading too much into it.  _ But something did feel off. You rarely see the man in a bad mood, but even the subtlest of shifts in his normally upbeat demeanour are easy for you to see. If it continues, you’ll ask him about it, but for now, you pocket the thought and switch to thinking about what to have for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu thank you guys as always for the amazing response to every chapter <3  
> we're finally starting to get into the romantic shit, but i can assure you that this will be slowburn as hell with lots of denial of feelings and all that  
> I finished writing chapter 8 and started chapter 9 right before I posted this, but posting might get a bit slower as I head into next week because it's midterm season (and I'm also trying to do the whisper of the worm catalyst quest and I need to do that before next reset or I'll have to do it all over again!!!!!)  
> as always, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if you want to talk!


	8. La Lune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: recreational alcohol usage (not as a form of self harm or in an unhealthy way, but exercise caution.)  
> chapter titled after [la lune](https://open.spotify.com/track/1UCDE2UIE5cC6B1o0nsrSv?si=n5tOJT6MRBCdedv8kHDCJg) by madeon

During the afternoon of the next day, your last day off, you receive a message from Saint.

_ Friend! _

_ Are you free this evening? _

_ Yeah I got no plans _

_ What’s up?  _

_ Would you like to come to the Pigeon for drinks tonight? _

Well, he’s obviously in a better mood than he was yesterday. Whatever he was dealing with must have resolved. You’re glad for him 

_ Some friends have secured me some decent alcohol _

_ Oh?  _

_ Do those friends wear cloaks and run around in the dark a lot? _

_ Perhaps _

_ You’re welcome to come by any time after sundown, if you want  _

_ You’re not gonna spend the night drinking alone if I don’t show up?  _

_ Ha, no. I am not that kind of person _

_ Good to know _

_ I’ll be there! _

_ Unless something apocalyptic happens _

_ I’m sure that if anything does happen, I will find you at the center of it _

_ :( _

_ I’m that bad huh _

_ You make a habit of stopping the end of the world _

_ See you tonight my friend _

_ See you then! _

“I guess I should go… buy some wine, or something,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “It’d be rude to show up without something.”

“For what?” asks Ghost.

“Saint’s invited me for drinks at his place.” You rock back and use the momentum to swing yourself off the couch. “Maybe to celebrate me not going crazy from being off work for three days.” 

“Aha, maybe.” You’re a little annoyed at how smug your friend sounds. “What are you thinking of getting?”

“I dunno!” You stretch your arms over your head. You’ve been sitting around all day and your muscles are tight. “Would vodka be too on the nose? Since he’s Russian?”

“Maybe,” Ghost muses. “Also, isn’t it disgusting to drink by itself?” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I’m scanning for Russian drinks.”

“I thought we just agreed buying a Russian drink would be a bad idea.” 

“I don’t know, maybe he’ll think it’s a nice thought!” Ghost’s iris blinks a few times. “Okay, how about this: mead. I don’t think any stores near here will have the specific Russian kind, but it’s close enough.”

"I guess. I don't know what he likes." 

"You could ask him." 

"I want it to be a surprise!" 

"So why are you tearing yourself up over the perfect drink to bring?" 

"I'm not 'tearing myself up!' I’m  _ literally  _ just trying to be thoughtful.” 

“O-kay,” says Ghost, and he spins his shell. 

Later that day, you pop out to the liquor store down the road. They don’t have the kind of mead Ghost specified -  _ medovukha, _ a Russian honeyed mead - but they do have a decent selection of other kinds. You’re not much of a mead enthusiast yourself, and you have no idea what Saint likes in a good drink. You grab something somewhere in the middle of the price range with flavours you like and hope Saint also enjoys it. 

You arrive at the gangway of  _ The Gray Pigeon _ fashionably late - half an hour past sundown, to give Saint some time to wind down after his day of talking to Guardians, handing out bounties, and doing other hero things. The Hangar is empty, save for a few techs working late. Even Holliday has gone home. Colonel clucks at you as you walk by, and you wonder absently if Saint would permit a chicken on his ship. 

The doors are shut when you walk up the stairs, so you rap thrice on them. Saint appears moments later, stripped half out of his armour, only his greaves remaining over his undersuit. He looks like a dog that had to have its chest shaved for a surgery. You can’t help but smile. 

“My friend!” His boom fills the Hangar. With no soft bodies around to absorb the sound, it reverberates everywhere. Saint seems to realize the loudness of his enthusiasm, and quickly lowers his voice. “Welcome, come in. Thank you for choosing to keep me company tonight.”

“Hey, I’m happy to spend time with you!” 

Saint leads you in with one big hand between your shoulders. The  _ Pigeon _ is a compact thing. It’s nothing more than a small kitchenette (stocked with purple-ribboned boxes, you note), a cockpit, a bed hidden behind a screen, and some storage. Straw and seeds litter the floor, and you notice little nests in some of the nooks by the door. Of course it’s become a nesting place for Saint’s growing flock of pigeons. The sight makes you smile even wider. Geppetto appears, greeting your Ghost eagerly, and they zip about the air before settling in some of the unused pigeon nesting spots. 

“I apologize for the… mess.” He gestures to the cookie boxes littered everywhere. “You Guardians are far too generous, and the Vanguard has not found me a suitable place to move yet.” 

“You still don’t have an apartment?” You hoist the six-pack of cans into your arms as Saint clears a spot at a very small table in the kitchen. You wonder how he fits on those chairs. 

“No, not yet. It is not a high priority for the Vanguard. Frankly, I am happy to stay in the Tower. Keeps me closer to the heart of this place.” He looks up from cleaning with a smile, and notices the mead you’re holding. “Ah, you did not have to bring anything!”

“I figured it’d be rude not to bring a gift for the host.” You present him with the drinks, and he takes them eagerly, appraising them.

“I would hardly call this hosting.” He reads the label on one of the cans. “Hm… they’ve certainly gotten better at making alcohol in my absence. ‘Notes of kerosene.’”

You hadn’t noticed that particular weird testament on the label. “I thought you might like that, since you’re a robot, and all.” 

Saint laughs. “Yes, you know me. Washing down my ribbon cookies with motor oil.” 

The two of you get settled, you with a can of mead and Saint with a gin and tonic. He pointedly slides a box of cookies to the center of the table. 

“Cheers, my friend.” He raises his glass. “To good health and good companionship.”

“And good cookies,” you add, clinking your can against his cup. You take a long drink. The flavour is interesting - very floral. You don’t know if you’d buy it again, but it’ll get you through the night. 

Saint sets his cup down with a clatter and sighs contentedly. “You are enjoying your time off?” 

“Yeah, for sure. It’s nice to rest,” you say. “I’m ready to go back to work tomorrow, though.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“I like to keep moving.” You take another drink, and the warmth of alcohol begins to fill your stomach. It’s pleasant. You can’t think of the last time you sat down and had drinks with someone like this. 

“I am glad I convinced you to do this. You look much healthier.” Saint gestures to his face. “The rings around your eyes are less dark.”

“Aw, man. That bad, huh?” 

“I am sorry to insult your appearance, but yes,” Saint says with a chuckle. “It was that bad. You looked to be on death’s door.”

_ He’s not wrong, you know, _ Ghost says over your neural link.

_ Rude! Keep your gossip between you and Geppetto. _

_ We don’t  _ gossip.  _ We have educated discussions. _

_ Whatever you say… _

“Regardless, you seem happier, and I am happier for that.” He raises his glass again in a one-sided toast. Saint being happy for you sits right in your head. “You should do it more often. As you have seen, Zavala’s head has not fallen off in your absence. I am sure taking time off more frequently would not put the Vanguard in shambles.”

Your mouth tastes bitter as you think back to what you said the other night about nobody stepping up to take over if you backed off. “I guess you’re right…”

“Ha, do not sound so eager!”

You purse your lips. “It’s hard to change my whole worldview so quick.” 

“I know, my friend. I joke. But you should take more care of yourself. I will see to it myself if I must.”

“Well, if you’re the one in charge of that, I won’t mind so much.” Damn, the alcohol hasn’t even kicked in yet and you’re already saying stupid things. 

Saint is silent for a fraction of a second too long before he answers. “I am happy to look out for you.” He takes a very long sip of his g-and-t. 

It takes a couple minutes before your conversation falls into its usual step, but thankfully, you recover from the awkwardness. It’s not hard once the booze starts to kick in. Minutes stretch into an hour, and as the night goes on, you’re two cans of mead and a couple shots deep, and Saint is even further. You know exo physiology is different than yours, but by the Traveler can that man pack alcohol down like nobody’s business. You lose count of how much he’s had, partially because you’re quite inebriated and partially because he’s had so much it’s difficult to keep track of. 

It’s comfortable. It’s always comfortable with Saint. Even smashed to hell, you feel safe around him. Being vulnerable with him, despite all its difficulties, is much easier than it is with others. You don’t feel judged - you never feel judged with him. And, most importantly, you feel safe, both from knowing him and knowing that if anything gets weird, your Ghosts can sober you up real quick. 

It’s nice to just relax like this with another. Something as casual as getting drinks with a friend hasn’t occurred to you in… years, probably. It’s good to let go. 

“My friend,” Saint says after a couple hours, “have you heard from Osiris lately? Will he come back to the Tower?”

“I don’t know.” You turn to look better at him. He’s moved from the tiny kitchen chair to his bed, where he reclines like a cat. “He doesn’t talk much about anything but the Sundial. ‘Guardian,’” you say in a poor imitation of his voice, “‘I did not contact you so we could chat.’”

Saint laughs a little too hard. “Yes, that sounds about right.” He takes a long drink. He’s broken into your mead now. “I hope he comes to visit soon. He and I… we did not part on the best of terms.”

“No?” You’ve gathered this. Though he’s obscure, Osiris has dropped several hints about his regret for how he and Saint-14 last spoke. Namely the fact that he broke time to bring Saint back. 

“No. We were at odds.” Saint sighs. There’s something… awestruck about it. Forlorn, lonely. “I long for him, Guardian. I chased his echoes for centuries, just as he chased me, and he will not even come by to say hello.”

“You know how he is.” 

“I do,” Saint rumbles, “but how he frustrates me! Would it kill him to come and visit an old friend?” 

You’re starting to get a strange vibe from him, but you don’t say anything. Too inebriated to really process it. “Honestly? It might.” 

Saint laughs, again a little too loud. “Maybe, maybe.” He takes another long drink. “I just wish… Ah, it is foolish of me.” 

“Whatever you’re about to say, I doubt it’s stupid. It’s okay to be mad at him - he’s an asshole.” 

“No, you are right. I just…” He sighs and runs a hand down the length of his face. His fingers make soft  _ tink _ sounds as they bump against his orbital plate. “We sought each other out for hundreds of years, and he will not even admit it’s because he cares for me.” 

Hm. Your addled mind is starting to connect the dots of what Saint is trying to say, and you’re not sure you like it. 

“Cares for you, how?” It’s a leading question, and you feel a little bad for asking it, but the alcohol quickly muffles the feeling. 

Saint chuckles lowly. The sound is bitter. “That fool would not know love if it kicked him in the face.” 

Ah. That’s it. Love. Saint is deliberately obfuscating what he’s trying to say - two can play conversational chess - but you know what he means. He’s bad at being subtle. Your stomach sinks, and you slam the rest of your drink back. You feel terrible suddenly. Why?

“More?” Saint asks, raising his drink to indicate that he’s talking about alcohol. 

“No, I’m gonna stop for a bit.” You cross your arms involuntarily, guarding yourself. “You think he’s in love with you?” 

Saint sputters a little, and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. He wipes his mouth of the little bit of mead he accidentally spit out. “You don’t break the laws of the universe for a ‘brother.’”

“And you…?”

“You don’t chase a ‘brother’ through time and space for centuries because you are just friends.”

“Hm.” You feel really nauseous. You’re glad you decided to stop drinking for now. You don’t want to throw up all over Saint’s ship. 

“You seem angry.” Saint sounds a bit like a kicked puppy. 

“I am,” you reply. You can’t look at his face right now and instead choose to focus on the logo on his shirt. “It’s stupid that he would be so hot-and-cold with you after all you’ve been through.” You’re lying about why you’re mad, and you know that, but you don’t know why, and you don’t know if that’s something you’re ready to think about yet - especially not with this much booze in your system. You think about pinging Ghost. 

“Yes, it is!” Saint nods aggressively. 

“And why don’t you say anything?”

Saint retreats on himself. He looks small, upset. It’s strange to see him like this. “He needs space now. I do not want to breach that and scare him off.” 

“Right.” 

_ Hey, buddy,  _ you say to Ghost,  _ you mind purging me?  _

_ Yeah, sure.  _ Ghost beeps quietly in your head, but doesn’t remove the influence of alcohol from you right away.  _ Is everything alright?  _

_ Yeah.  _

He’ll know you’re lying. He tracks all your biological data. But, he doesn’t say anything. You feel the alcohol begin to leave your system, and your mind sharpens. The fuzzy filter of booze leaving you sends you into a panic - what the hell are you doing, confronting Saint about his love life? Why are you so upset? What’s going on? You swallow, your mouth suddenly drier than the Mercurian deserts. You’ve gotta get out of here before you freak out. 

Thinking quick, you pretend to check a clock. “Oh, shit. I should get going,” you say. You lick your lips several times. They’re dry, too. 

“Ah, but it is still so early!” Saint’s mood shifts quickly. The wonders of booze. “You will not stay longer?”

“Nah, I planned on going to bed early to get the most sleep I can before going back to work.” That’s a lie, but you know Saint will appreciate hearing that you’re going to take care of yourself. 

“I see. A reasonable choice.” Saint stands, and you stand too, whip quick. “Thank you for spending tonight with me. You know I appreciate your company.”

“Yeah, you too.” You hurry for the door. Ghost appears at your side, beeping quietly by your ear. He can sense something is very wrong now. “Take it easy, okay? And don’t drink all that alcohol tonight by yourself. Love isn’t worth drowning in booze like that.” 

Saint smiles. His gaze is tender. The affection in his look makes you more nauseous. “Take care of yourself, my friend.” He places a hand on your shoulder, and his thumb draws a line across your collarbone. You want to burst into flames. You smile weakly, finish saying goodbye, and take off as fast as your legs can carry you while still walking. 

_ Something’s wrong with me, _ you say to Ghost. Your breath forms clouds in the chilly Hangar air. 

_ You’re mad,  _ Ghost says.  _ At… Osiris?  _

_ Yeah, I’m mad at him, because he’s an ass. But that’s not…  _ Your steps falter.  _ That’s not wrong. Osiris sucks. This is something else.  _

_ I think you’re jealous.  _

Lightning arcs up your spine, into your neck. “No way in hell,” you mutter through your teeth. “What do I have to be jealous about?” 

Ghost worries at your hair, struggling to keep up with your pace. “I don’t know, Guardian. Maybe we should get you home and calm down.” 

“Yeah,” you huff. “Yeah.” 

When you get back to your apartment, you drop onto your couch and tuck your knees to your chest, crowding yourself into the corner. Saint’s texted you -  _ Are you alright? You left in quite a hurry.  _ You don’t answer. You swallow, desperately trying to moisten the inside of your mouth, and it clicks. 

You’re jealous because Osiris is in love with Saint-14, and Saint-14 loves him back.

Uh oh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I’m fully an o14 stan but if osiris doesn’t make a fucking move i’m taKING ADVANTAGE OF IT FOR THE SAKE OF THIS FIC  
> ghost headcanons: a guardian can sort of. choose whether to get drunk. alcohol is biologically a poison so it would make sense for a ghost to be able to purge that form a guardian's body. hence our guardian yeeting the alcohol at the end there. no I don't have specific headcanons for exo drunkenness - let's just pretend it works and call it a day.  
> I done spoiled yall by updating every other day huh??? it feels like it's been ages since I posted.   
> chapter 9 has been written, and thank ur lucky stars it's a lot happier than this one. I have several assignments due in the next couple days, so I won't be able to write chapter 10 in that time. however, that's why I give myself a buffer of one pre-written chapter! if I can complete all my stuff quickly, I'll hopefully write chapter 10. if not, I'll post chapter 9 soon!  
> i'm too tired to type out the html for my twitter so. yall know where to find me. just go back a chapter and click the link!


	9. Up In My Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after [up in my jam (all of a sudden)](https://open.spotify.com/track/7aujzJrVOPyU3xQ2YzdCxS?si=ra0oPKiiS42pNk2DHKIccQ) by kubbi

You don’t see Saint again for several days. You make a point to stay off planet, running between Mercury, Nessus, and Mars. You do your best  _ not  _ to visit the Sundial when you’re on Mercury. You need to cool your jets before you see Osiris’ stupid mug again. 

Why are you jealous of Saint and Osiris? Why are you jealous of Saint and Osiris? The question rings in your head, and you gun down enemies to try to forget. Your Ghost worries about you. He doesn’t say much, but you know he’s fretting. 

You don’t really talk to Saint aside from the occasional check-in. It feels strange to talk to him, just as it feels strange  _ not  _ to talk to him. You regret fucking off so quickly from your get-together, but you don’t know how to bring it up without him raising questions about what was wrong, and you’re certainly not ready to talk to him about  _ that  _ yet. 

It takes four days of running and gunning before you finally unravel whatever has been going on in your head. It’s fine - everything is fine. It’s okay to have weird feelings about people. You don’t need to panic about it. Sometimes, the brain produces weird reactions to things, and that’s fine. What matters is your response. In this case, you feel a bit stupid about how you reacted - running away, immersing yourself in killing, because it’s easy and uncomplicated - but now you know for next time how to handle it. 

It’s fine. It’s totally normal to be jealous when your friend has a crush. Because then they might get together with someone, and then you won’t get to spend as much time with them because they’ll be elsewhere with their SO. A completely normal thing to be jealous about, especially when that friend is the first person to show you genuine kindness in a long time.

Right?

Whatever. It’s over. You’re done having your little tantrum - it’s time to get back to reality. 

You return to the Tower to cash in bounties, pick up new ones, and maybe stop for some ramen and a nap in your own bed. You visit Eva, who presents you with some homemade peppermint bark that you have no idea how she’s had time to make. It’s delightful. She asks you to keep an eye on Zavala - she knows he hasn’t been doing well since Cayde. It’s the holidays, do something nice for your boss. 

You stop by Zavala’s station, give him Eva’s regards, and then visit Banshee, Ikora, and Suraya Hawthorne to present them with Dawning cookies. Louis eyes you like he’s going to rip out your throat if you don’t hand him the birdseed right away. You swoop down to see Drifter and hand him off some pastries before he can try to rope you into a round of Gambit. You decide that you’re going to go down to the Hangar to say hi to Amanda and chat with Saint about some bounties.

You’re not… particularly looking forward to seeing Saint. You left on a sour note - at least from your perspective. You’re over it, but you still feel bad for leaving him like that. Oh well. You just have to pony up and confront any awkwardness that ensues. 

When you reach the Hangar, you notice that Saint’s station is empty. You give Amanda some cookies and chat for a bit before you bring it up. 

“Oh, him? Saw him leaving here with a fire under his ass half an hour ago.” She bites into a cookie. There’s grease on it from her hands, but she doesn’t seem to care. Extra nutrients, you suppose. “Why, need him for somethin’?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to pick up some bounties,” you reply absently. Weird. What could have had him leaving so suddenly? Was he avoiding you? You sure hope not. That would make things ten times weirder. 

You ascend the stairs to the Tower proper, checking your communicator to pass the time. You consider sending Saint a message to ask where he is. It’d be inconvenient for you to have to come back to the Tower to talk to him later. That thought process is terminated when someone reaches out from the shadows and grabs your wrist. 

You tear your arm away and raise your opposite fist to strike your attacker, but falter when you see who it is.  _ Saint _ has grabbed your arm from underneath a shaded awning. He’s hiding out in there like some sort of skeevy Hunter. 

“Holy shit, Saint! Don’t do that!” You’re fuming from the adrenaline response your body just gave. You glare, and he shrinks back a little. 

“Friend, I am sorry, I was just so excited to see you.” He hunches his shoulders apologetically. “Come, come here. I have an idea.”

“I’m not hiding out in this weird shitty corner with you.” 

He scoffs in exasperation. “Fine!” He moves out of the shadows, figure imposing as ever. You’ve missed him. You hate the pang that strikes your chest when you realize that. “I am going to play a prank on Shaxx.”

“You - what?” You blink, shocked by the sudden topic change. “Uh, why?”

“Fun!” 

“Okay…” You eye him skeptically. “I, uh, don’t want to die, so I’ll just move along.” 

“No, I need someone to distract him!”

You sigh. “Am I being volunteered?” 

“Yes. We are with each other all the time. He will not suspect something strange is afoot if both of us show up to his post together.” 

You sigh again. Do you really want to be smote by a massive Titan today? Is that how you're gonna go out? You mull it over. On the one hand, you might face the wrath of Lord Shaxx. On the other, you get to have fun with your friend you haven't spoken to in a few days and quite frankly feel a little bad about avoiding. 

"Okay, fine. What's the plan?" 

"Yes!" The strip that runs down the center of Saint's helmet glows brighter. “I am going to glue Shaxx’s hands together.”

“That…” You frown dubiously. “That sounds like a terrible idea. How are you going to sneak up on him to do that?” 

“Ah, there will be no sneaking! The best stealth offensives are pulled off right under the enemy’s nose.” You can practically hear him grinning. “We will go up to him. You start talking to him to distract him from what I’m doing, which is -” he wiggles a tube of superglue in front of you - “covering my hands in this. I will loosen my gloves and then…” He scoops your hands up into his own, clasping them around yours in a near inescapable grip. You hold back a choked sound, and your stomach does a backflip. “I will give him a brotherly handshake, and he will be stuck!”

“I… I see,” you stammer. Saint bobs his head enthusiastically. “Um, what should I talk to Shaxx about?” 

“Ehh…” Saint finally lets go of your hands, and your whole body unclenches. He puts a hand to his chin and thinks for a moment. “Ah, I know! Ask him about the two of us doing a Crucible doubles match! I have been meaning to do so anyway.”

“You still want to do that?”

“What? Yes, of course! I have told you I would be honoured to fight by your side.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. Even going just a few days without his friendly touches has made you yearn for them. “Shall we?”

“Right now?”

“Yes!” Of course he’d be eager. Spending hundreds of years in limbo would do that to a person. “Let’s go.”

“Alright…” 

Saint searches feverishly through his armour for a little tube of superglue, and you set off towards Shaxx’s station. You’re sweating. Profusely. For a number of reasons, namely that you don’t want to be graphically murdered on the Tower for being an accomplice. 

Saint stops you near Banshee’s counter. The gunsmith doesn’t bat an eye at your behaviour. You’re sure he’s seen weirder. Guardians get up to some strange things in the courtyard.

“I will wait here so he does not see me setting up,” Saint murmurs to you. “Go on ahead.”

“I don’t know what to talk to him about,” you hiss, trying to keep out of sight of the general public. 

“Just ask him about our fight as you would if you were  _ not _ trying to cover up a prank.”

“I’m not an actor, Saint!” 

“Oh, come now. I know you have lied to my face before.” You swallow. Oh shit. Does he know you lied about being jealous of him and Osiris? “You can do it. I have faith in you.” 

“Fine. Fine!” You take a few deep breaths and stride into the sunlight. Shaxx is talking to another Guardian at first, so you wait for him to finish and get Ghost to ping Geppetto to tell Saint to do the same. 

“Ah, my favourite Guardian,” Shaxx booms when your turn comes. “Have you come to show the greenhorns how it’s done?” 

“Not today, no.” You try to shoot him a winning smile, but you’re not sure how well that comes across. You realize you’ve waited a beat too long to continue, and you desperately try to come up with an explanation. “Um, I actually had a question about Saint. He -”

“You know Saint cannot earn Crucible weapons as well as he does, Guardian,” Shaxx says in a warning tone. “Sending you in his stead to ask will not change my mind.” 

“That’s not what I’m here about. We wanted to do a Crucible match together, and we thought we’d ask you about it first,” you explain. It’s only been a few moments, but it already feels like an eternity. “He’s on his way up to talk about it now, actually.”

Shaxx gains a thoughtful aura. “Hm… Yes, I appreciate your inquiry. We’d have to make some… changes for the two of you. Considering.” He rubs the chin of his helmet. “Ah, speak of the devil. Here he is now.”

“Shaxx!” Saint’s shout nearly scares you right out of your greaves. You’re way too jumpy right now. “My friend, it is wonderful to visit. I take it our Guardian has run by you our request?” 

“Yes, they have. I approve. But,” Shaxx says as Saint stops beside you, hands behind his back, “we will need to have further discussion about it. Two Guardians as powerful as yourselves will need to be mitigated.”

“I do not find that unreasonable,” Saint says. He reaches out his hands to clasp Shaxx’s. You swallow and lean away slightly. They make contact. Your heart speeds up. “Thank you, my friend. I appreciate it.” 

“You don’t have to be so formal, Saint. I’d be happy to grant a request for you.” 

You hear the smile in Saint’s voice. “Regardless, I appreciate it.” And then he pulls his hands out of his gloves. 

Shaxx starts to respond, going on about something you don’t hear. It takes him a few seconds to notice that Saint’s pulled away. When he does, he stops talking. 

“Saint, you can let g -” He looks down. His hands are completely sealed together. You see his armour strain as he tugs experimentally. “What have you done.”    
“What, are you not strong enough to free yourself, Shaxx?” Saint taunts. 

“You bastard.” Shaxx’s tone is bitter as a lemon. 

“Run,” Saint says gleefully. 

“Oh dear,” Arcite titters. 

The two of you make a break for it, nearly drifting into Rahool’s corner as you try to turn sharply. Shaxx roars at the two of you. You hear a couple of Redjacks mobilize as you pass Banshee. Your veins are filled with fire. Shaxx’s outrage follows you all the way down to the Bazaar. Pigeons flap away noisily as you and Saint thunder into the area, and vendors (including the ever judgemental Ikora Rey) stare at you as you approach. You hook your fingers into Saint’s gauntlets and drag him under a half open gate and into an abandoned storefront you know used to be Banshee’s.

Seconds pass. Then half a minute. You try to quietly catch your breath. A full minute goes by. No sign of approaching wrath. You exhale loudly, and Saint starts laughing. The sound echoes in the small space and warms you, lifts you higher. You find yourself grinning. 

“Okay, that was pretty funny,” you admit, wiping sweat from your brow. You know Shaxx is going to make your life hell the next time you step into a Crucible arena, but it’s definitely worth it.

“How I wish he did not wear that helm! I would pay thousands of glimmer to have seen his face.” Saint slaps a hand against his thigh. “Ah, it is good to see you smiling again, my friend. I was worried you had grown sad when we spoke little while you were away.”

You look at him curiously. So he noticed.

“I just needed time,” you said. “Being cooped up in the City for days made me antsy.” 

“Ah, I know you enjoyed it.” 

You realize then how close the two of you are. The “store” you’re in is more of a storage area with a gate in front of it, filled with boxes the two of you are struggling to fit between. Saint’s body radiates heat, and you realize that the reason you’re sweating is mostly because of that. You swallow thickly, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

“Come, I will buy us ramen.” The moment is over. Saint slides away towards the entrance and beckons you forward.

“You don’t have to do that,” you reply, following him. 

“See it as repayment for risking your life for me.” His helmet is on, but you can see the twinkle in his eye. You sigh. No point in arguing with a brick wall. 

Saint leads you into the open air with a hand between your shoulder blades, and you realize how much you missed him when you were gone. You never want to do that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOO BOY WE'RE OUT OF THE WATER WITH THE ANGST FOR A LITTLE BIT   
> also like. yes i absoultely had to write something about [this fucking dialogue line.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQmpk3wHyXM) bungie gave me this fuel i will do with it as i please  
> thank y'all so much for your patience with this one, and also for the support you have been giving me. truly your comments all make my day a little brighter. not to get too personal, but I'm going through some pretty wack shit right now (involving just like, straight up libel and invalidation of my status as an indigenous person), so having your support and validation, even if it's in no way related to what I'm going through, really means a lot. every comment and kudos mean so much!!   
> also, someone drew fucking fANART??? FOR THIS FIC??? im losin my marbles!!! check out [this wonderful art from sibylance on twitter](https://twitter.com/Sibylance/status/1227820659352506369?s=20) of their guardian all dressed up to go to a ball with saint. honest to god this is exactly what I pictured a guardian that wanted to wear a dress wearing for this occasion. excellent mindreading.   
> anyways, it's reading week for me, so that means I'll have a lot more time to write! however I also have some assignments to do, including one due in 2 days, so things might be slow at first. but! we're in the home stretch now baybee!!! i'm so excited. shit's gonna get real gay real fast   
> as always, i'm on twitter at [antlerlad](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if you wanna give me a shout or two!


	10. The Intrepid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: good lord im dumb as hell i put the wrong song in for this chapter and also didn't title it. sorry if you get 2 emails about this  
> chapter titled after ["the intrepid"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYDQMZMwT8g) by akira senju  
> CONTENT WARNING: somewhat graphic depictions of violence. Essentially a much more detailed crucible match than you’re used to experiencing

You hit the ground and slide behind an old shipping container to dodge a hail of bullets. One of them clips your shoulder and you swear loudly, but Ghost fixes you up quickly. You see Saint rez a ways down the hall. You watch him shake an angry fist at his stupid play. He’s frustrated, and you are too, but the pain sharpens you. 

You’re 0-2 in the last round of the doubles match Shaxx set you and Saint up in. Both teams have each won two rounds respectively. Your teams have been blow-to-blow with each other, one player scoring a kill followed by another from the opposite team scoring another within seconds. The people you’re playing against are top Crucible athletes; you recognize their names by virtue of them being famous, but you don’t really know who they are. Normally you’d guess you and Saint would flatten anyone you went up against in the Crucible from the sheer amount of combat experience you have, but these people have  _ Crucible  _ experience. They know the arenas better than you, and they know each other well. It’s a very even match. Shaxx definitely did this on purpose - the man loves a good fight. 

It’s been an absolutely wild half hour for you. While you’re frustrated from being so evenly matched, the fighting has been  _ magnificent.  _ Your blood always gets pumping in the Crucible, but it’s never been like this. You and Saint are like a well oiled machine, an eye-burning combination of azure and violet storming the arena with energy and combat prowess. Every kill feels like a victory. Every good play makes the two of you howl with delight. The other team are amazing as well, of course - a fierce titan/warlock combo. They counter you with solar and arc energies. Yes, they’re good, but when you gun one of them down with Saint at your side cheering through your headset, you feel like a god. 

Man, Shaxx is going to get some good ratings for the broadcast of this match.

You take a minute to breathe. Shaxx has sounded the one minute countdown. Saint’s still finding his legs, but he’s not in the other team’s sightlines yet. If you’re lucky, you can pull back and get the drop on them.

“Don’t move,” you say to Saint. “I’m coming back to you.” He grunts a response. 

The shipping container you’re using as cover is long enough to give you the space to sprint and dive across the corridor into the room adjacent to it. Your opponents recognize what you’re doing, and you hear them rush you, boots  _ clonk _ ing against metal. Okay, okay, you can work with this. You’re just going to be separated from Saint more than you’d like. 

“They’re coming after me. Flank them.”

“Yes,” comes his answer. 

You lead them into the circular room you dodged into and hide in a doorway. They’ve got eyes on you, but it’s fine. Your grenade has recharged. You prime it, arc energy zipping up your arms, and launch it into the room. It staggers the titan and does considerable damage to the warlock, but neither of them go down. You say some very inappropriate words. If you had any hope of hiding out here, it was gone. 

You see a flash of indigo out of the corner of your eye. The warlock is flattened faster than you can parse what’s happening. The kill counter ticks up. It’s 1-2. Saint has killed one of your opponents with a well-timed shoulder charge, but now he’s alone in the room with the remaining titan. A couple good punches would take him down, but this titan is faster than Saint. 

You see the titan raise his gun to shoot your partner, but you’re faster than he is. You shoot, but the titan is moving already, and you only land a slug in his side. It’s not fatal. You try to center your aim better, but Saint is already charging him. Residual void energy ripples off his body as he knocks the titan to the ground. They grapple for several seconds, and you can’t get a good shot in on the enemy titan or you’ll hit Saint. You know that the enemy warlock has respawned and they’ll be coming your way soon, too. You don’t have the faculties to aim an extremely precise shot into the head of a writhing titan  _ and  _ watch your back to make sure the warlock doesn’t get you from behind. 

With a roar, Saint slams the other titan into the floor hard enough to dent it. He grabs the titan by the face and, before the other can reach Saint’s throat to strangle him, snaps his neck.  _ Tick.  _ It’s 2-2. You grin at Saint through your helmet, but he can’t see. 

“ _ Brilliant!” _ Shaxx yells over comms. “You two are unbelievable. You’ve got thirty-five seconds to secure the win.” 

The two of you have a decision to make. You can either try to push the other team back as one half of them are rezzing and risk the warlock taking you out or retreat back to where you’re more comfortable and wait it out, potentially driving the match into overtime. Every second extra is another second the other team can rack up kills. 

“Safe strat?” you ask. You use as few words as possible. You don’t have time to be sophisticated. 

“Let’s go,” Saint agrees. 

You pull back and hide out on the other side of a doorway, Saint on the right side and you on the left. The other team will have to search for you, and you’ll have to listen for them. Many seconds pass before you hear the sound of their boots hitting the ground. They’re sprinting. You and Saint prepare for them to charge you, foolishly. You’ll hit them with a volley of gunfire and they’ll both go down.

But that’s not what happens. The warlock, far ahead of their slower titan partner, hucks a grenade at the wall nearest to you on the other side of the door. The velocity is so great that it bounces off the wall, then the floor, and then hits Saint square in the chest. The blast totally obliviates his armour and chassis, spraying shrapnel everywhere, including into your flesh. You scream, partially in pain, partially from frustration, and partially because watching Saint die like that may have killed you a little inside. 

2-3. 

The warlock slides through the smoke of Saint’s flash-evaporated coolants and fluids. You can’t see them through the billowing, putrid clouds, but they can’t see you, either. They tackle you blindly and you, in pain and unable to see, bow to their weight. You’re on the ground, ears ringing from your helmet hitting the floor hard, and the warlock’s hands are on your throat. They’ve forgone their gun; the range is too close for them to even hold its great length between the two of you. 

“Fifteen seconds,” Shaxx says, all-too-eagerly watching the life fade from you.

You have to do something. You’re  _ not  _ going to lose pinned to the floor like this. It’s embarrassing. And on citywide TV? No fucking way. You twist under the warlock, and your hand manages to slip to your thigh, grasping your hand cannon in its holster. 

You don’t have the time to make a killing blow, so you shoot for whatever part of their body you can manage to hit, which happens to be their torso. You hear the scream as the bullet enters their right side and exits their left. It’s enough to make them let go and slump to the side. 

You shove yourself away and plug their head with another bullet. 3-3. The titan is coming  _ fast,  _ and you need to reload. Shaxx has given the ten second warning. You desperately pop the chamber of your gun. The titan slides around the corner, overshooting your position slightly. You could try to use the warlock’s slowly disintegrating body as a meat shield, but you don’t have enough hands for that. You slam a single bullet into the chamber. The titan raises his pulse rifle. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

You’re faster than him. 

The bullet hits his shoulder, not killing him, but it’s good enough. He can’t hold his gun when the muscles in one of his arms has been ripped to shreds. He drops the pulse rifle and you lunge for it, your battered body aching in protest. You grab it before the haze of pain fades from the titan enough to let him realize what’s happening, and spray a long line of bullets up his body. He collapses. You do, too, exhausted. 

4-3. 

“Guardian!” Saint shouts. He drops out of his run to slide on his knees towards you.

“Five seconds,” says Shaxx, voice laced with glee.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you mumble. Ghost begins to attend to you, vaporizing the chunks of Saint’s body that have stabbed through your armour. “We’re good, right? We won?” 

Saint pauses, listening for the sound of boots on metal, or for Shaxx’s voice - whichever comes first. 

“And that’s the match,” Shaxx roars. “Ladies and gentleman, the final score is four to three, with victory going to the legendary Saint-14 and our hero of the Red War!” 

“We fucking did it!” You laugh with delight, unable to contain yourself. Every part of your body is singing. Your muscles, your bones, the Light within you, your heart, your voice. Saint helps you to your feet and then contains you in the warmest hug you’ve ever felt, swinging you around in a circle.

“My bird, you were amazing,” he says, his voice also laced with laughter and the joy of victory.

You’re overwhelmed. You don’t know what you’re supposed to pay attention to. You’ve just won the most intense Crucible match of your entire life alongside a hero of legend. Said hero is picking you up and holding you like you weigh nothing more than a handful of grapes. You are being  _ embraced _ by him. And he’s just called you “my bird.” In front of the whole City, who are no doubt watching. 

Instead of processing your emotions normally, you find yourself weeping and laughing with joy, wrapped up in the arms of the man you consider one of your closest friends. 

\---- 

You’ve gone back to your ship with Saint now. You’re sharing - the  _ Pigeon _ is still in the Hangar on the Tower, laden with tributes and decorations, so you offered your ship to transport the both of you. The air is positively electrified with your excitement. You can’t control your Light, and neither can Saint; arc and void mingle, filling the small space of your cockpit with the energy of a thousand bodies. 

Saint’s hand is on your shoulder as you watch the replays of your match. You don’t think he’s stopped touching you since the match ended. A hand on your shoulder, around your waist, on your bicep, pulling you into a hug. He gets touchy when he’s excited, and the joy is infectious. You find yourself leaning into it, cautiously returning the touches when you get the opportunity. The heat of his body seeps through his armour. 

“My friend, that was truly magnificent,” he says for probably the tenth time today. He looks at you, and the streak of violet down the center of his helmet glows to a point of almost blinding you. “Truly,” he insists, “I cannot thank you enough. It has been a long time since I have competed in the Crucible. And it was an honour to fight alongside you.” 

“Hey, you too,” you reply, bumping his hip. “You killed it out there. Literally.” 

“Ahh,  _ you  _ were the real star! Look at you!” He gestures to the small monitor on your ship’s dashboard where the replays are rolling. It’s true. Normally you try to stay humble, but you really kicked ass. “You are brilliant.” 

“You’re gonna give me an ego if you keep hyping me up like this.” You’re blushing profusely under your helmet, which you haven’t taken off. Nobody needs to see you as sweaty as you are, especially not Saint.

“You deserve to think highly of yourself,” he insists. “You are the best of us.” 

“Oh, stop.”

“You stop,” he says, “and listen.” You find yourself commanded to look at him, blinking in surprise. His tone is suddenly nowhere near casual. “You put yourself down far too often. You are a wonderful, talented person, and you have done many great things. You saved humanity, you brought me back. And I -” He cuts himself off with a harsh sigh. Your heart feels like it’s going to crawl out of your throat and flop around inside your visor like a dead fish. “I don’t say these things to inflate your ego. I mean it. You have brought so much joy - you have brought  _ me _ so much joy. I do not know what tells you to put yourself down under the guise of humility, but it is wrong.”

You make a noise like a strangled seal. You’re beyond flustered now - confused, flattered, and somehow, upset. You don’t know how to stand and take praise like this. You try to say something, but all you can come up with is, “Saint…” 

“Guardian,” he replies. “I know it is hard to accept, but you are good. You are wonderful.” He puts a hand on your helm where your cheek would be. You think you might burst into flames on the spot. “One day I hope you will see that too.” 

Thank the Traveler your helmet covers most of your face. You’re staring, mouth hanging open, inexplicably teary-eyed, and redder than the Crucible colours. You don’t know what to do, don’t know what to feel. Too much is happening all at once. 

Saint hums and drops his hand after your silence stretches too long. You want it back. 

“Tonight, we will celebrate,” he announces, turning to look back at the monitor. “Do you know of any good bars in town? I am still learning my way.”

“I - yeah, yeah.” You shake yourself physically, trying to snap out of it. “Purdy’s is good. All the hunters go there. It’s a good time.” 

“Good, yes, we will go there,” Saint rumbles. “I’m buying.”

“You really don’t -”

“I insist.” 

“Okay.” You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. You’re so overwhelmed with sensation and emotion that you can’t make sense of anything at all. “I’ll, uh, fly us back.”

“Yes, let us go and change into something less oppressive!”

You slide into the pilot’s seat and grab the controls. The whole flight home, your brain is elsewhere, and Ghost has to take over when you really space out. Saint speaks to you as you travel, and you answer him, but when you touch down in the City, you remember absolutely nothing that happened on the journey home. 

What the hell is wrong with you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10! holy shit! we made it! a month ago i didn't even think I was gonna start this project, let alone get this far.  
> i'll be honest w yall - I decided to jiggle the timeline for this fic a little bit because I sorta realized that like, the month that makes up the dawning is way too short a time (in my opinion) for someone to fall hopelessly in love with someone. it's getting scooted forward a bit. so if chapter 11 seems a bit weird (for reasons you'll hopefully understand when I publish it), that's why  
> also, more fanart! this time from [twitter user scientia_lacuna/ao3 user artemis crimson!](https://twitter.com/Scientia_Lacuna/status/1228820604414914561?s=20) thanks so much! to be honest I absolutely would not be upset if y'all drew your guardians in fancy clothes and tweeted them at me... im just sayin... my twitter is [antlerlad...](https://twitter.com/antlerlad)  
> until next time!


	11. Interlude 2: Pattern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: im a dingus and mistitled the chapter. pls forgive   
> chapter titled after ["samol"](https://notquitereal.bandcamp.com/track/samol) by jack de quidt  
> corridors of time spoilers in this chapter

The Dawning ends. Honestly, you’re sad to see it go. The festival has contained some of the best moments of your long life. You’ll miss the decorations and the sense of cheer warming the Tower even during these chilly winter days. You’re sad to see Eva leave, too. You’ll miss your time spent in her kitchen, baking massive quantities of goodies for Guardians everywhere. She’ll be back soon, you know, but her little station being empty fills you with a strange sadness. 

You don’t go to the Dawning ball the Consensus invited you to. Zavala chastises you about it at a meeting, saying something about how important it is to keep up appearances, but your mind is elsewhere the entire time. Dances aren’t your speed, and neither are dinners with stuffy politicians. You have better things to do, like eat fries and watch rom coms with your Ghost. 

When you visit Saint the day after the ball, he seems morose. When you prod him about it, he simply says he’s “in a mood.” You decide to attribute it to the holidays being over. 

\----

The short stretch between the Dawning and Crimson Days leaves you with a lot of free time. You spend most of it with Saint. The two of you run more Crucible matches together, under the careful supervision of Lord Shaxx and the Vanguard. Shaxx is absolutely delighted by the ratings you’re bringing him. You walk the City streets together, too. People wave at you when you pass. Ghost is delighted to spend time with you out in the world instead of shooting monsters. You help Saint tend to his little garden under the  _ Pigeon. _ It’s nice. Saint’s warmth cuts through the chill of winter. 

As time passes, you begin to find seeds in your boots, your armour. The birds have taken a liking to you. 

\----

After days of work, you finally puzzle out the Corridors of Time. You don’t talk to anyone about it. Not even Osiris, who does not ask, despite his scientific curiosity. Especially not Saint. In your mind, you replay his speech over and over again, listening for the heartbreak in his voice. You can’t bear to hear him like that. It’s self harm, really; you don’t need to hear him like that again to reassure you of its realness. It’s not some vex trick. But, still, you play it on repeat until it reduces you to tears. 

It’s not just his speech, either. You’re rattled by the nature of the thing itself. You’ve died a million deaths - seeing your own dead body isn’t weird for you. But your own grave… you’re lifeless, Lightless in there. An empty shell of the person you were. And Ghost… Seeing his little frame encased in stone atop the hilt of a sword made you sob out loud. Your usually chatty companion said nothing as the sound ripped from your throat. 

You don’t leave your apartment for a full day after you get back from Mercury. Saint is worried.  _ Everyone’s  _ worried - Ghost hovers over your shoulder at all times, Ikora messages you incessantly, Saint won’t stop calling, and even Osiris reaches out in his own way. You don’t ever drop off the grid like this, but you need time. Seeing your own grave and hearing your friend - your best friend? - give a speech in your honour was just too much to handle. You wallow in sadness and shock for longer than you’d like. 

The next morning, when you emerge from your cave, Saint insists on going out for breakfast. You don’t say anything about it, instead choosing to make idle conversation like you usually do. When you finish your cheese omelette, Saint slaps his credit chit on the table before you can even think about paying your bill. The small gesture of affection and care makes you cry your eyes out later that day.

How fragile your immortal lives are, you think. How you should treasure what time you have and not throw it away idly because you can just be resurrected. 

\----

Time stretches on. You spend a lot of time with Saint, and even more time thinking about him when you’re not together. Despite having listened to him give a eulogy at your own funeral, he's still just so… easy to be around. He does everything right. He knows when it's appropriate to give a gentle touch of reassurance, what to say, and when to say it. He's a miracle of a man. He came back from the dead to become one of the most important people in your life, and nearly everything he does is perfect. 

What's less perfect is that, after several days worth of contemplation and denial, you've realized that you definitely, absolutely, 100% have a crush on him. 

It took a lot of nights spent lying awake thinking about him and your relationship for you to come to terms with that. It's been a  _ long _ time since you last fell for someone, and it certainly hasn't gotten any easier since then. Relationships, especially ones that involve death, rebirth, and guns, are extremely complicated. Honestly, while sometimes you long for a partner, it’s easier to go without. 

It's just the… everything about him. His face, his body, the way he talks, holds himself, the tender touches to your shoulders and arms - they all drive you wild in more ways than one.

It sucks big time, though, because you haven't forgotten the tantrum you threw about him admitting he's in love with Osiris. You don't know if he remembers saying it to you, but it's clear as day for you. Any time you find your mind joyously wandering to thoughts of him, that painful reminder sneaks in. It's okay to be upset about it, though. Maybe running away from everything for several days was a bit dramatic, but it's still okay to grieve the loss of what you could have had. 

Despite this, you still find yourself fantasizing about him like a little school kid with a crush. You might as well draw your names inside a heart with how smitten you are. You daydream about him all the time - holding hands, kissing, and doing some very not-rated-teen things with him. It's really problematic. At least you can contain yourself around him. It makes your friendship much less weird if you act normal. 

In the end, you're happy to be friends with him. Childish crushes aside, he's a good man and an even better friend. Spending time with him lightens your heart and makes you happy. You’re content to have him haunt your thoughts at all hours because of just how much delight he brings you. 

Ghost notices. Even if he didn’t have a direct connection to your brain, he’d be intuitive about your feelings. He brings it up one day as you’re about to crawl into bed for the night. 

“Hey, are you… alright?” he asks, hovering near your face, little mechanisms within him whirring thoughtfully. 

“Am I ever?” 

“Okay, no, but you know what I mean.” He huffs. “You’ve been… how should I put this? You’ve been sighing dramatically a lot more than usual lately.” 

You slide your legs under the covers, relishing the silky feeling of sheets you’ve just changed. “I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“I know. I can feel the theta waves even in your sleep.” He doesn’t say it, but in there, there’s a bitter jab about how you don’t share with him. All he can get are your brain waves, not your real feelings. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I promise I’m fine, Ghost.”

“You say that, but I’m still worried.” 

You sigh and hold your hand out for him. He perches in your palm, his points angled in something resembling a frown. “Feelings are weird,” you murmur. 

“They sure are.” 

“I don’t -” You hesitate. It feels weird to admit a boundary like this. “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about them yet.” You feel sort of bad that one of the few truths you’ve told about your feelings is how much you can’t talk about them. 

“You know I’ll be here to listen when you figure it out.” 

“Thank you.” You nudge one of his wings with a finger. “I love you, buddy.” 

He floats off your hand and gives you a kiss on the forehead by way of bumping you with his frame. “Love you, too.” 

You sleep well that night.

\----

Four days before Crimson Days begins, the Vanguard assigns you a four-day patrol on the Moon. You’re a little cranky about it, honestly. The Moon is seriously creepy and not a place you want to spend extended time. Plus, you’re gonna miss the first day of Crimson Days which, in your opinion, is the best one, because everyone is so excited. That and you won’t have time to buy gifts to give to your loved ones beforehand, since you have to depart so soon. A shame, because the polishes you were going to buy for Ghost and Saint will surely be sold out by then. 

To their credit, the Vanguard is apologetic about it. “We’re aware it runs into the Crimson Days festivities,” Zavala says. “There has just been suspicious activity up there we would like your keen eyes to keep watch over.” 

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” you say in a blatant white lie. “It’s not like I have a partner to be mad at me about this.” Ikora tilts her head at you with a somewhat pitying expression on her face, and you suddenly realize how desperate and pathetic you sounded.

“Thank you for your understanding,” Zavala says before anything can get awkward. “If you have no further questions, you’re free to go.”

You leave, and when you return to your apartment later, you flop onto your bed with a sigh. You leave tomorrow. You’re not looking forward to it. You’re normally happy to do whatever the Vanguard asks so you can keep yourself busy, but this time is… different for some reason. Perhaps spending so much time planetside with Saint has spoiled you. 

Ah, well. As with many things, you must grin and bear it. Besides, when you get back, it’s Crimson Days! Something to look forward to, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a short one this time folks. sorry about that. I rly struggled with this chapter tbh  
> the remaining 3 chapters (holy shit) of this fic will probably be slow going because like. how you say. romantic stuff is going to start happening. I'm not ... experienced with romance and I want to do this right. so. we'll see how it goes. chapters 13 and 14 are also entirely not plotted out unlike t he rest of these chapters hgtghitugh  
> ALSO HOW BOUT THAT NEW OSIRIS CUTSCENE LMAO.... osiris be loving hot russian singles in his area  
> as always thank you so much for the support. even if I don't reply to your comment, I promise I appreciate it <3 i rly wish ao3 had a like button on comments so that I could do that  
> yell @ me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) if u want


	12. Marbled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after ["marble tea"](https://open.spotify.com/track/7EpWy1mRvZN5LYgXfAQDHe?si=_WURRZhwSCeubHocUWmfyA) by shawn wasabi

The Moon has changed some since your last extended stay there. It’s a lot less… chaotic. Nightmares haunt less of the surface, and you find yourself harassed by fewer Hive. Eris herself seems lighter without the weight of her dead fireteam literally pressing on her shoulders. It’s not so bad to be there. 

Eris herself has proven to be pleasant company. She’s much older than you are, and has plenty of stories to tell as a result. And you could listen to her voice all day. Despite most of what she says being decidedly creepy, she speaks elegantly, like a poet might. The two of you had a couple long discussions into the evening over meagre suppers. You enjoy spending time with her, and in fact get so far as exchanging personal contact information so you can talk more later. You wish you would have taken the time to bring her more cookies (despite Eris’ preference for oatmeal raisin, of all things) during the Dawning. She may be a bit odd, and for good reason, but she’s also incredibly clever, well-spoken, and  _ funny _ . Her jokes are few and far between, but they hit like a Cabal Gladiator every time. 

That’s why you find yourself procrastinating on departing the Moon. You’re loath to leave. You flop across the tiny, terrible bed inside your ship and scroll through VanNet, not wanting to return to the monotony of daily life in the City. You still have to buy Crimson Days gifts for your friends, and fill out a detailed report for the Vanguard… Ugh, why couldn’t those things just do themselves? What a pain. 

Your procrastination leads you to be on your communicator when you receive a message from Saint. You’re glad you haven’t left yet, otherwise you would have missed it. 

_ Friend, you return from the moon soon, right?  _

_ Yeah, in just a few minutes actually! _

_ Would you come by the Pigeon when you get back? _

_ I have something I need to talk about with you _

Oh no, that’s never a good thing to hear someone say. Your mind races with the possibilities. Oh, God, what if he’s friend-divorcing you? You scramble to think of any terrible thing you’ve done in the last few weeks that might have led him to do that. You hastily type a response. 

_ Sure! _

_ Is everything okay? You sound kinda serious… _

_ Ah apologies! Yes, everything is fine _

_ It’s just time sensitive and I would prefer to speak to you in person about it  _

_ I promise nothing is wrong, my friend, I should have been clearer _

_ Haha thank you for clarifying. I thought my heart was gonna stop _

You breathe a long exhale. Crisis averted. For now, anyway. You’re still concerned. Saint doesn’t normally request your presence to talk about something specific. Usually he just wants to hang out. You really hope he wasn’t lying just to placate you and that everything is actually okay. 

Well, now you have a motivator to get moving. You sit up abruptly, startling Ghost, who had gone into standby. After a quick apology, you settle into the captain’s seat and ready for takeoff. The trip from the Moon’s surface to the City only takes about forty minutes, especially at night, when you’re right overhead. It’s really not all that long, but long enough to be somewhat of an inconvenience for you. At least you get to listen to your favourite playlist along the way. 

The Tower is fairly quiet when you arrive. Lack of traffic aside, the Crimson Days rose petals muffle most sound. You catch one out of the air and put it in one of the pouches on your armour. You like to get one petal from every year and press them into a little book as a way to remember.

You return a few bounties to Banshee, who is closing up shop for the night, and wave to Shaxx on the way. He greets you with a bellow. You exchange a few words with Banshee before heading down to the Hangar. As you walk, Ghost excuses himself hurriedly, saying something about the Ghost Community Theater. You’re not sure why he has to be there in person, but you send him off with well wishes. You’ve seen what Marcus Ren and Enoch Bast have gotten up to there, and it seems like they need someone with more control to rein them in. 

The Hangar is quiet, too, with only maintenance frames and a few hard-working technicians filling the space for the evening. You don’t see Saint right away as you approach the  _ Pigeon.  _ He appears from behind the ship, helmet off, gloves covered in soil, when he hears your footsteps. 

“Ah, my friend.” His voice is without its usual enthusiasm. Well, if you weren’t worried before, you sure are now. He wipes his gloves on his greaves to no avail. Metal is not good for absorbing dirt. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” 

“Hey, it’s no problem.” You walk up and lay a gentle hand on his arm. “Are you  _ sure  _ you’re alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for the concern,” he says as he searches desperately for a rag to wipe his hands on. When he finds one and cleans himself off, he turns back to you with a smile.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “You wanted to talk to me about something?” No point in beating around the bush, you tell yourself. It’ll stress you out more to try to devise what he wants. 

“Right, right. Yes. Come inside?” Saint seems… distracted. Anxious. It’s not a good look for him. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

In the few seconds where Saint returns his rag to its place and guides you to the doors of the  _ Pigeon,  _ you grow exponentially more nervous. It’s a little frightening to see Saint like this. He’s nothing like his usual warm, boisterous self. It’s like his Light has retreated into him to hide. 

As soon as the doors hiss shut behind you, you speak. “Okay, bud, you’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?” 

Saint doesn’t move further into his ship. It’s almost uncomfortably cramped in the entryway. You slide inward to try to give him more space. He’s way too antsy for you to be inside his personal bubble right now. 

“I apologize for worrying you,” he says, his voice barely a murmur. He declines to elaborate on why he’s so nervous, instead choosing to say, “There is… a ball.” 

The pause between that and the next time he speaks is enough to make your mind go in a thousand different directions. Yes, there’s a ball! There’s a ball on the Tower sometimes! What the fuck is he talking about?! The soccer ball crushed under the landing gear of his ship? The shell that sometimes drops when a Servitor isn’t fully obliterated? 

“At the end of Crimson Days,” he clarifies when he sees your confused expression. That only confuses you more. “The Consensus is hosting it again. Something about unity and love between factions.” Saint wrings his hands. “I… missed you at the last one.”

You swallow as what you think (hope) is happening starts to click in your mind. “Yeah, it wasn’t really my thing.”

“Would you go to this one?” Now he’s looking past you, not at you. 

“I mean, maybe? I don’t know…” 

He meets your eyes and speaks slowly, clearly choosing every word carefully. “If I were to ask you to go, would you say yes?” 

Your breath catches in your chest and your mouth falls open slightly. Oh. Oh, this is happening. You close your mouth and swallow nervously, heart pounding. 

“Are… are you asking?” You tilt your head and look up at him through your lashes, hoping he won’t notice how much you’re blushing right now. 

“Yes.” His voice is soft, but confident as ever. He clears his throat despite not needing to do that, and his expression grows warm. “Would you go with me?” 

You force yourself to pause so you don’t reveal how incredibly prepared you’ve been for this moment. “Yeah, that would be great.” Your voice wobbles a little when you say it. 

Saint visibly relaxes. A great gust of air puffs out from him. “I was worried you would say no,” he murmurs. 

You can’t contain a barking laugh. “What made you think I’d say no?” 

“I have spent many years chasing you. Perhaps…” His fingertips brush your upper arm and he looks at you as if waiting for you to jerk away. When you don’t, he cups your bicep, running a thumb across your gauntlets. You barely feel his touch, not through your armour. “Perhaps centuries in the Forest made me worried I had misconstrued your personality. That I had made up a more willing version of you.” 

“God, no,” you blurt. “You were right. You were absolutely right.” Your feelings threaten to spill forth, and it takes all the effort in the world to restrain them. You don’t want this to get weird. What if he’s just asking you to go as his friend? You don’t want to suddenly dump a month’s worth of repressed romantic feelings on him. 

“I am glad to hear this.” His voice is still so soft, so vulnerable. You want to hold him and coax him back to his usual outgoing self, but you don’t. “You must be tired after working for so long.”

Oh. He’s dismissing you. You’re not upset - frankly, you need to get out of this ship before all the blood rushes to your head and makes it explode. “Yeah. I should probably get going.” 

“Thank you for coming to see me.” He clasps your hands and shakes them with a renewed vigour. That’s more like him. 

“You know I like spending time with you,” you say with a smile. He smiles back. “See you Monday night?” 

The smile falls. “You will not come visit before then?” 

You snort softly. “I meant for the ball, doofus. I’ll try to come by between now and then.” 

“Ah, very good.” 

You slide back over to the door and Saint hits the button that makes them open. The pigeons outside startle at the noise. 

“Good night, my bird. Take care,” he says, and you nearly burst into flames. 

“I’ll do my best. Night, Saint.” You smile, give a little wave, and descend the few steps of the  _ Pigeon _ into the Hangar. You get several metres away before you hear the ship’s doors close. Saint was watching you leave. 

Oh, my god. That really happened. Saint asked you to a thing, a  _ fancy  _ thing, where there will be dances and drinking. Does that mean he likes you? Like,  _ likes  _ you likes you? You don’t ask someone who is just a friend to a ball during  _ Crimson fucking Days, _ of all holidays. What about Osiris? What happened to that? Did he fall out of love? Did they say something to each other? Does that mean that all the things you did together - the coffee runs, the breakfasts together, the Crucible matches - were those  _ dates? _ Was he trying to woo you? 

This is all  _ extremely  _ new for you. You’ve been in a relationship before, but it was  _ ages _ ago, and you were the one who asked the other person out. You have no idea how to read this. Is it romantic? Is he just being friendly? Why in the  _ hell _ does he have to be so vague? Why are you too scared to ask him what he meant?

You hurry back to your apartment, heart pounding, and throw yourself onto your couch and squeal for a few minutes when you arrive. You squeal with joy for a few minutes. That really happened. That actually, really happened. Dreams do come true. 

When you’re done throwing your tantrum of absolute delight, it occurs to you that you own absolutely zero formal wear. Fuck. Shit. You can’t just show up to a ball in your good jeans and a nice shirt. At least you have several days to figure that out, right? But you have no idea how fashion works or what to do about it. Oh god.

Well, when you don’t know how to do something, you ask someone who does. 

_ Ikora _

_ Hlep _

_? _

_ I got asked to the crimson days ball thing _

_ And i dont have anything to wear _

_ Did you have to greet me like that? I thought you were in danger.  _

_ No im just DYIGN _

_ And you thought to text me about it? _

_ Yes because youre cool and fashionable  _

_ And perhaps generous enough to take time out of your very busy schedule to help me? _

You can practically see the crease forming between Ikora’s brows as she reads your desperate messages. 

_ I’m free saturday afternoon. Meet me outside your apartment at 3. _

_ I OWE YOU MY LIFE _

_ Wait how do you know where I live _

\----

Saturday arrives. You’ve been avoiding talking to your Ghost about this all week. He knows something’s up - when he came back from whatever he was doing the night Saint asked you to the ball, he actually yelled because of how “loud” your Light was. People two blocks down could probably feel it, he said. What’s going on, he demanded. You reassured him that everything was fine and that this was a good thing, but didn’t elaborate. He’s been grumpy about it since. 

Ikora texts you when she reaches your apartment, and you descend the stairs with glee. Anything that reminds you about the upcoming ball makes you excited. Ikora waits outside in a fashionable trench coat and slacks. Her casual attire is just as formal as her regular attire. 

“Guardian,” she says in greeting.

“Ikora,” you return. “Thanks for doing this. Really. It means a lot.” 

“It’s no problem,” she says with a smooth smile. The phrase is simple enough, but you know there’s something behind it. Ikora always has an ulterior motive. “I have a few ideas of places we can look for clothes. Shall we?” 

“Yes,” you reply, giddy, and Ikora hails a cab. 

When you get situated in the vehicle, Ikora speaks again. “So,” she begins, and you brace yourself for anything, “what has you so intent on looking good for this? You’re not one I’ve ever known to care about appearances.” 

“How dare you. My armour is immaculate.”

Ikora snorts. “You know what I mean. Your fashion is…” She looks you up and down. You flush under her scrutiny. You’re dressed pretty basically, but you weren’t about to dress up to go shopping. “Simple. Simple, but effective.”

Okay, that’s less scathing than you were expecting. 

“Rude, but okay.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” you grumble. 

“Seriously, though.” She nudges you. It’s a remarkably affectionate action for her, and you’re a little surprised. “Why the fuss?” 

“I…” You falter. How best to go about this? “I have someone I have to impress.” 

Ghost materializes in a blinding flash. “You finally admit it! I knew it!” 

Ikora’s brow lifts. You flush deeper and put your hand lightly on Ghost’s face, pushing him away. He curses at you. 

Ikora doesn’t miss a beat. “So who is this lucky fellow?” 

Oh, that bitch. She absolutely knows who it is. Her “guess” at the gender of the person in question is enough to indicate that. Well, two can play at that game. 

“It’s not important  _ who  _ it is, just that I look good,” you reply. 

“Come on,” Ghost wails. “I’m dying here!”

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready, bud,” you say as you offer Ghost your hand. He headbutts it. 

“Yes, of course. You’re under no obligation to tell me,” Ikora murmurs, looking at her nails, and you know your refusal to speak on it is confirmation enough for her. 

It takes you two hours, three stores, and a tea break before you finally find something. Your standards aren’t that high, honestly, but Ikora is ruthless. She won’t stop until you’ve found the perfect outfit. You end up settling on a shimmery blue number with delicate white and gold accents. It’s thoughtful - the blue compliments your status as an arc user, and it will compliment well with whatever Saint chooses to wear. You hope. You trust Ikora’s advice, at least. 

It’s dark by the time the two of you finish up. Ikora excuses herself, citing prior arrangements with another friend. You thank her profusely before she leaves. Really, her advice has been invaluable. You say owe her a favour, which Ghost quietly remarks is a bad idea. She just laughs and waves it off. You get the feeling she genuinely enjoyed the outing. 

After you hang your outfit carefully in your closet and settle in for the evening, you’re still vibrating with excitement. Soon. Soon, this is going to happen. You don’t even care if Saint asked you out in a friend way. Okay, maybe you do care a little. A lot. Regardless, you’re excited, and the next few days will be spent in a restless fever until the day of the ball arrives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c   
> alright lads. we're entering the endgame now. the next chapter is gonna be long as hell, and I haven't really gotten to writing it yet like I normally would. if you follow me on twitter, you'll know I've been tweeting a lot about really struggling to write this section of the fic because I'm not good at romance by virtue of being autistic and also only ever being in one relationship. I want to take my time with this, and I want to do it right, because I've kind of been churning this bad boy out as fast as I can before I lose inspiration. that said, I've been trying to update this fic every other day because I've been writing it so fast, but the next chapter might take longer than that. while the update would normally fall on the coming sunday, it probably won't end up being posted then.   
> (I know many of you guys have been encouraging me to take my time with this and not rush myself so I want to be clear: I absolutely don't feel rushed by anyone! I just want people to know what's going to happen with this fic because I know a lot of folks have been holding out for this to start getting romantic)  
> thank you so much to everyone who has said nice things to me on twitter, and an extra special thank you for those who have drawn fanart for this fic!!! i literally lose my fuckin mind every time someone tweets a drawing of their guardian in formalwear at me. I will continue to die if you keep tweeting them at me. I love it. like, [check this shit out](https://twitter.com/HANZOYOURTITS/status/1230680698991845376?s=20) im losing my mind!!!!!!!  
> ok this is far too long so that's all from me for now. hope yall take it easy this weekend and see you on the flip side! follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) to yell at me or watch me suffer while writing!


	13. Cut to the Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titled after [cut to the feeling](https://open.spotify.com/track/2QCdL2VAAZEaXHsS3zfObW?si=-251IC-JRMGYXGUSmTDPLQ) by queen carly rae jepsen  
> cw for alcohol and drunk (but consensual) romantic activities  
> thank you so much for your patience with this chapter, folks. it means a lot.

Tonight’s the big night! This evening, you’re going to go to a gala, dressed in fancy clothes, with someone who might be the man of your dreams. There’s going to be dinner. There might even be dancing. You’re excited, and you’re so, so nervous. By the time you’ve struggled into your outfit, you’re half a bottle of white wine deep and panicking. The alcohol has helped some, but you can’t shake the anxiety 

You’re trying to keep your hopes up about this. Maybe this is a date! Maybe Saint holding your hand, touching your arm, asking you to spend time with him - maybe all those things were signs. But, still, you worry you’re misinterpreting. Maybe you’re too desperate for this to be real and you’re exaggerating everything. You don’t know. You wish you were bold enough to ask. 

Instead of being bold, you’re halfway to drunk at 4:30pm on a Monday. You suppose courage is overrated. 

A half hour of panic later, there’s a knock at your door. You don’t even have to ask Ghost to filter the alcohol from your system. He does it anyway to avoid the absolute humiliation of stumbling around like a fool when your date gets to your door. He’s a good Ghost. 

You pause for a moment before you open the door to smooth your hair and your clothes. You want to be perfect. Getting drunk and freaking out for an hour had wrinkled your outfit considerably. 

“You look fine,” Ghost assures you softly. 

“Thank you.” You bump his shell with a knuckle. 

You open the door, and there he is. Saint-14, resplendent, in a black suit with a skinny violet tie over a white dress shirt. Wait, no, that’s not right - you look a little closer and his suit is actually a deep, deep purple. Of course it is. It’s his colour, and it suits him perfectly. You’ve only ever seen him in his armour or sweats before. This new flavour of Saint is very easy on the eyes. Everything about him is perfect right now. The colours, the fit of his suit, the soft expression on his face. 

_ Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,  _ Ghost says in your mind.  _ The person you’ve been repressing a crush on for weeks is SAINT-14?! _

You try not to laugh at him and instead redirect the energy into what you hope is a winning smile. 

Saint, gentlemanly as ever, greets you with, “Good evening.” 

“Hey,” you reply, trying not to sound completely like a lovestruck doofus. You have a feeling this whole evening is going to be spent being hyperaware of everything you’re doing, right down to the tone of your voice. Ah, well, that’s what alcohol is for. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Ha, y’know. Nervous. Not used to political stuff.” 

Saint nods. “I understand. It is not for everyone.” He pauses for a moment. “I have brought you something.” 

“Oh?” you say, surprised. “You really didn’t have to -”

“Please, my friend,” he interrupts, “allow me to repay you even slightly for all you have done for me.” 

“Saint, you really don’t owe me anything.” 

He holds out his hand in an act of silencing. Transmat particulate swarms around his palm, slowly materializing into a mass of… flowers. Delicately arranged white tulips, daisies, baby’s breath. You gasp involuntarily.

“A corsage? Saint…” You reach out, awestruck, to take it, and Saint gestures his hand in permission. “Are these  _ your  _ flowers? The ones you’ve been growing?”

“They are!” Saint’s chest puffs out a little with pride. “I was hoping they would be ready by now.” You notice now a small bouquet affixed to his lapel, the flowers matching yours. Your cheeks turn an unfathomably bright red. 

“This is really nice,” you mumble, suddenly unable to look at him. “Thank you. I’m really honoured.” 

“I am happy you like it.” 

Saint steps forward and gently takes the bundle of flowers back. He begins to affix it around your wrist. He holds your hand up like it might shatter under his touch.

“I would put it on your clothes, but what you are wearing is so fine I could not bear to damage it on accident,” he explains. 

“Ah, yeah, this is alright,” you reply absently, transfixed on the deft motions of his hands. He ties a knot on the underside of your wrist, at your pulse point, and then steps back to admire his work. You can’t help but admire it, too. The arrangement he’s done is very nice. 

Saint crooks his arm and wiggles it at you. “Shall we?” 

You take a deep breath, say, “No time like the present,” and link arms with him. 

The cab ride to the venue is relatively uneventful. Saint asks you how you’ve been and the two of you make idle chatter as you always do. He seems a little nervous in the same way he was when he asked you to this ball in the first place. Shifty, fidgeting. You decide to play it a little dangerous and reach out to touch his shoulder, offering a smile while you do. He jumps, but then realizes it’s just you, and vents a great sigh. He squeezes your fingers. 

_ I wonder what’s got him so nervous, _ you muse over your neural link.  _ Maybe the Consensus has been giving him trouble?  _

_ Traveler above, you are so stupid,  _ replies Ghost. 

_ What? _

_ I mean, maybe that’s it, but… Never mind. You’ll figure it out yourself.  _

_ What, Ghost?  _

_ You’ll get there,  _ he says, and you frown. If he doesn’t want to elaborate, you won’t force him, but now you’re concerned. 

You arrive at the venue. The entrance is decked out with massive floral displays in pink, red, and white hues for Crimson Days. Inside, great red ribbons hang and drape from the ceiling and walls. Slightly more subtle flower arrangements mirror the ones from outside. You wonder in the back of your mind how they grew all those flowers in the dead of winter. Saint had enough trouble growing some to make tiny corsages for the two of you. 

A service frame with a swanky red bow-tie waves you over to them and advises you in the general direction of your table. You’ll be sitting with the Vanguard, seeing as Saint was formerly one of them, and you work with them frequently. You’re relieved. At least sitting with a group of people you know will alleviate some of your nerves. The frame checks you in and waves you into the ballroom with a chipper glow of its optics. 

Saint threads his arm through yours, pulls you close, and walks you into the room.

The ballroom itself is just as elegant as the rest of the setup, but again more subtle. Red curtains line the sides of the room. Rose petals decorate every table. At the center of each, a vase sits, adorned with more matching flowers. Ghosts flitter to and fro, many decorated in shells of Crimson Days red, somehow unintentionally complimenting the decor in the room. Whoever designed the decorations did an excellent job. 

You see a few folks you recognize aside from politicians. The Guardians you annihilated in the Crucible raise their glasses to you from across the room when you make eye contact. Other Guardians of note are scattered around the room, schmoozing or being schmoozed upon by high-ranking faction members. You spot Zavala and Ikora at their table near the back of the room by some sort of stage. They aren’t speaking to one another. 

“Oh, boy,” you mutter. 

“What is it?” 

“You see them?” You jerk your chin towards the two Vanguards. Saint hums in acknowledgement. “You know they’ve been at odds since Cayde, right?” 

“Yes, I have seen it. You think that will be a problem?” 

“They’re sitting in complete silence at the same table, Saint. They work together every day. People with a good relationship wouldn’t be totally quiet.” 

“Hm. I suppose we will have to make them talk, then.” 

“Don’t try anything crazy,” you say, elbowing him gently. “I’m nervous enough already.” 

“I will not.” 

They both greet you politely when you arrive. Zavala says nothing more than hello before returning to brooding. You take it he hates these events as much as you do. Ikora, however, maintains small talk. She’s very good at it. She’s good at a lot of things, especially her job, and you’ve always admired her for that. The two of them are both dressed smartly, Zavala in black tie, and Ikora in a beautiful mustard gown that somewhat resembles a traditional warlock robe. 

Someone comes around with some wine, which you and Saint both gladly accept. Ikora is already on her second glass. Zavala declines the offer of alcohol. You  _ really  _ hope drowning yourself in wine is going to make this situation much less awkward. 

“So, Saint,” Ikora says, swirling her glass around, “how did you convince our Guardian to come with you? I know how much they love parties.”

“Okay, listen - I like parties. I just don't like these kinds of parties,” you interject, trying feebly to defend yourself. 

“You get free food and wine. What’s not to like?” 

“Literally everything else.” You gesture to Executor Hideo a few tables away, who is hounding some poor Guardian. “I don’t wanna deal with that. Or this.” You pluck at your outfit. It’s not exceptionally uncomfortable to be in, but the stuffiness of it all feels bad. 

“Unfortunate. The formalwear suits you,” Saint says smoothly, and your mouth hangs open like a dead fish. “If you must know, Ikora, they came because I asked them, and because we are friends.”

“That’s all?” She takes a sip. “I would have thought there was some bribery involved.” 

“Ha, only the promise of a good time.” Saint mirrors her sip. He’s much better at making conversation than you, especially when you’re in the state you’re in. “What about you? Where is your plus one?”

“Bold of you to assume I would force someone I care about to go through this.”

You snort and nearly choke on your wine.

The small talk continues as you all wait for the rest of the guests to arrive. A few slimy political assholes drift over to your table to seduce the unsuspecting Saint-14 and the Young Wolf. Both of you try to dance around the conversation and imply you’re not interested in forming any allegiances, but they’re persistent, like flies to a corpse. Geppetto and Ghost hover near you, and you swear they’re both frowning angrily. You feel a nervous sweat pooling at the small of your back. Finally, after several minutes of awkward conversation, Zavala dismisses them with a few words and a steely, mirthless smile. You’re suddenly reminded of why he’s the titan Vanguard. He’s terrifying when he needs to be. You think that if you were on the receiving end of what he just said, you might have started crying. 

The last of the guests trickle in, and that’s when the speeches begin. You all but dissociate to avoid listening. Even if you’re politically affiliated with the Vanguard, you really could not give less of a shit about what the other political groups are trying to say. You go through a glass and a half of wine within the first speech, drinking out of the desire to feel something other than boredom. 

Saint leans over to you. The heat of his body is near overwhelming, especially now that you’re a little buzzed. “This man could perform Hive death magic. I might die from boredom listening to his voice.”

You puff out a laugh and try to hide the sound in your glass. 

A few minutes later, and the next speech has begun. Someone you don’t care about is up on the stage, talking about unity and how grateful they are for the present company. Saint leans over again.

“They could really show us their gratitude by shutting up and letting us eat.” 

You snort. Zavala shoots you a withering glare. He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically hear him reprimanding your unprofessional behaviour. 

Saint continues to make little quips to you as the speeches go on, leaning in closer each time to avoid drawing Zavala’s wrath. You feel the gentle venting of his cooling fans on your neck like soft breaths. It flusters you, but the alcohol has already made you red in the cheeks, so it’s difficult for anyone to tell that you’re actually blushing. You make a few jokes back at Saint, commenting on how boring the speakers are, how you’d rather fight a Worm God ten times over than listen to this Dead Orbit idiot talk about valour. He laughs softly every time. 

“I’d rather listen to Asher Mir talk about the chemical structure of radiolaria than be here right now,” you murmur. Saint snickers and takes your hand under the table. 

You freeze and your brain shorts out, but you don’t pull away. Your whole body feels like it’s screaming. It might as well be for how overwhelming the sensation of Saint’s hand in yours is to your drunk ass right now. It takes all of your willpower not to make a noise like a boiling tea kettle. Your face feels hot enough right now that you might just morph into one. 

Saint doesn’t seem to notice your distress. Thank the Traveler for that. 

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It’s nothing. You’re both a bit inebriated. He’s just excited. It’s fine.

But maybe it isn’t.

He lets go after a short while, and you find yourself missing the weight of his heavy palm against yours. You’re quickly distracted by the arrival of dinner. It’s a chicken and pasta dish. You’re no food connoisseur, but you can tell they’ve used some sort of fancy cheese in it. The luxury of it makes you feel like royalty. You only hope you haven’t gotten any red sauce on your clothes to ruin that feeling.

Dessert is served (it’s a fancy chocolate mousse of some kind), and then the room is cleared to make way for a dance floor. You’re all pretty quickly swarmed by brave Guardians asking you for dances. Saint and Zavala politely decline them. Ikora doesn’t, whirling away in a flash of dressy robes with a warlock she appears to know. You dance a few songs with those two Guardians you first competed against in the Crucible with Saint. They’re friendly with you, and they make sure there’s no hard feelings about your time fighting them in the Crucible. You exchange contact information with them when you finish dancing. 

As you’re about to go back to your table, a shy hunter approaches you and asks if you want to dance with her and her friends. You recognize her voice as someone from the team that stormed the City when it was under control of the Red Legion alongside Zavala, Ikora, Cayde, and Hawthorne. Of course, you agree, and go live it up with a gang of far more rowdy hunters. A few times, you catch sight of Ikora in the fray, laughing with delight. It warms you. You swap frequencies with this group of people, too, and you’re happy to have so many new friends. Being you can be lonely.

You return to your table, sweaty and satisfied, and collapse in your chair. Your tablemates are nowhere to be found. You’re a little relieved about not having to talk to anyone for a few minutes, at least. A frame appears, offering you more wine, which you accept. You’re very pleasantly drunk now. Not out of control just yet, but enough to make the world swim with delight. 

You’re staring absently at your shoes when another pair of feet steps into your vision. You look up, and it’s Saint with both hands behind his back - the picture of elegance. 

“Will you dance with me?” he asks, extending one hand to you. 

“Yes,” you reply immediately, breathless despite having rested for several minutes now. Saint smiles brilliantly as you place your fingers in his palm and get to your feet. Suddenly, you’re sweating just as much as you were after dancing for fifteen straight minutes. 

You feel stares boring into the back of your neck as you two approach the dance floor, but you don’t care. You can’t bring yourself to. All you can focus on right now is Saint and the delicate way his arm is wrapped around your waist as he guides you forward. 

The two of you dance a few songs together, laughing and cajoling and making fun of the other’s shitty drunken dance moves. Well, you can hardly call what Saint is doing “shitty” - he’s a good dancer. He’s carrying this entire interaction. You’re not bad yourself, usually, when there’s less alcohol involved. You keep track of all the touches shared between you. Every hip bump, brush of the shoulders, hand on the waist, all of it is tallied in your mind on some sort of touch-starved chalkboard crafted by the lover in you. 

Geez. The longer this evening goes on, the more you realize how stupid head-over-heels you are for this guy. 

You tap out after song number five and head back to your table, Saint in tow. You contemplate another glass of wine, but decide that you’re sweaty and stumbling enough already. Actually, you need some air. You quietly excuse yourself and find the nearest balcony. You lean against the safety rail and stare over the City, drunk and content.

Yes, you’re content, but something still worms around in the back of your mind. You’re happy, so happy, that Saint asked you to do this, and you’re starting to warm up to the idea that maybe, maybe, he does have feelings for you, but… Still, there’s always that apprehension. The fear that sits, latent (and, let’s be honest, sometimes a little less than latent) and preys on the fact that this might all be a dream. That maybe you’re misinterpreting. 

Your sigh is dragged away by the wind. Being in love is way too complicated. 

You hear heavy footfalls approach after several minutes of alone time. You know the sound of Saint’s steps better than your own heartbeat now. He settles beside you, quiet. 

“Are you alright? You have been out here alone for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah, just… processing.”

He leans on the balcony and looks at you, as if inviting you to open up to him “How so?”

You decide to be somewhat honest. Maybe it might be less of a decision, and more of the alcohol loosening your lips. “I didn’t think tonight would ever happen. Like, in general, because of the war, but also…” Saint elbows you gently in a physical and emotional prod. You turn away so he doesn’t see your cheeks turn a deep red. “Being here, with you.” 

He laughs. “Well, I was dead. You could not have foreseen that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” 

His tone is difficult to read, especially with your mind as addled as it is. Perhaps he is surprised. Perhaps confused. Perhaps it’s something else. Perhaps you were right about your misinterpretation. Your stomach sinks a little.

You’re quiet for a while. You stare out at the City, unable to look at him. “Did asking me to this mean anything to you, Saint?” 

He goes very quiet. You can hear the soft  _ whirr-click _ of his heart. “Yes,” he says finally. 

He shifts a little closer to you, testing the waters. Your arms brush together. His shoulders are so wide that it’s still a comfortable distance. You could get away easily if you wanted to. Even now, he still maintains your personal space. It’s a sign of respect that endears you to no end. 

“You mean the world to me. I could not imagine being here without you.” 

You’re tired of beating around the bush. You look at him, gaze sharp, trying to pierce through the layers of politeness. Being most of the way to “extremely drunk” helps alleviate the anxiety of asking. “As a friend? Or as something else?” 

He stares for a moment, and then lowers his eyes and sighs. The gesture is remarkably human. “I have always thought of you as my friend,” he begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. “Even in the Infinite Forest, you were there for me. Every memory, every simulation of you - you were there. It was like you yourself broke through the Vex simulations to reach out to me.”

“Good to know the Vex think I’m a good person,” you grumble, and you suddenly want a very stiff drink. 

“And,” Saint says, stopping you from dropping everything and leaving right there, “I think that between then, and because of all the time we have spent together, and because of you - you are remarkable, my bird. Breathtaking. The greatest person I have ever known.” He’s pretty much stammering now. You’ve never seen him so flustered and off balance. It’s his turn to stare at the cityscape and avoid eye contact. But then, he turns and looks at you, and you’re drawn to look back. His gaze is so soft, despite being formed by metal plates and false muscles. “I think I may have fallen in love with you.” 

You stare. He stares back. The silence stretches between you. You can’t think - your mind is racing too fast. It’s real.  _ It’s real. _

“Uh,” you say finally. Another long pause, and Saint continues to stare, waiting for you to speak. He seems disheartened. After another small eon, you weakly offer, “Same?” 

Saint is visibly taken aback, eyes widening, bright violet crystals shining between plates meant to resemble the eyelid. Then he laughs. First it’s a chuckle. Then it devolves into genuine, booming belly laughter. You can’t help but join in. This is ridiculous. It’s hilarious that it’s taken you two so long to admit it, and that you were both too daft to realize your feelings for one another. 

Finally, the laughter dissolves, and Saint pats you between the shoulderblades, his hand slowly sliding to the small of your back. You don’t move away. 

“What a pair we are,” you murmur. 

“Indeed,” he replies, his tone warm. 

“What now?” 

Saint hums, but is otherwise quiet. You look back out at the City’s nightlife, content to just stare in silence. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Weeks of pining and repression have finally paid off to something. You feel like you can relax now.

Well, maybe not just yet. “What about Osiris?” you ask quietly. “Last I checked, you were pretty smitten with him.” 

Saint snorts with considerable disdain. “I have moved on from him. I still love him very dearly, but if that fool will not so much as spend time with me, I will direct my emotions elsewhere.” 

“I’m glad you’re standing up for yourself,” you murmur, keenly aware of Saint’s fingers toying with the fabric clinging to your hip. 

“I spent just as long chasing him as I did you, my friend. You were never second to him, and he was never second to you.” 

“You don’t need to say that, Saint. I was just wondering about him.” 

Saint turns to you, and you stand straight and mirror him reflexively. Cautiously, he raises a hand. His fingertips brush your cheek, and when you don’t move away, he anchors his palm there. You hope he can’t feel how warm your skin is. 

“My bird,” he says, and the name turns your legs to jelly, “I care for you  _ so much.  _ I want you to hear me say it, because I know sometimes you do not believe it. Even now, I can see the doubt in your eyes.” 

He’s right, and you wish he wasn’t so good at clocking your moods. 

His unoccupied hand drifts to your other cheek. Enveloped like this, you feel the safest you’ve maybe ever felt. “Allow yourself to believe you are loved by others. Especially by me.” 

Your hand rises to cover one of his and you take a shaky breath. “Easier said than done.” 

“Let me show you, then, how much you are loved,” he says, and leans down nearer to your face, and before you can even register what you’re doing, you rise up to meet him. 

His lips are metal and unyielding, but that’s okay, you think absently as you knit your fingers together around the back of his neck. He recognizes your eagerness and takes you in a warm embrace, fitting your bodies together. It feels perfect, like you were made for each other. Every muscle in your body sings in harmony. Every neuron in your brain fires at once in a delicious display of passion. 

You pull away to breathe. The breathlessness is dizzying. You wonder what he feels. You search his eyes for an answer, but all you find is his optical plates set in soft half-moons of satisfaction. 

“I apologize for my enthusiasm,” he says. His voice rumbles in your chest. “I should have asked you first. It has been centuries since -”

“Wait, hold the fuck up. Are you  _ apologizing  _ for kissing me after we both just admitted we like each other?” 

“I -” He frowns. “Yes. I am.” 

You throw your head back. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I can assure you I wanted that - maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything ever.” 

“This is… reassuring to hear,” he murmurs.

You steal another quick kiss from him. It feels natural, like you’ve been doing it for ages. “I’d love to stay out here with you, but, uh, I’m kind of getting cold.” 

“Ha, of course. Let’s go inside.” He kisses you one final time, and you sigh contentedly against him. You’re reluctant to untangle your limbs from his. He’s warm, but your silly little flesh body can’t handle being outside in the dead of winter without a coat for this long. He leads you to the door back into the hall by your hand, but releases it when you enter. You can respect that. You’ve barely realized you have feelings for each other. It’s not time to go public just yet. 

The rest of the evening is a blur of covert hand-holding, dancing, and more drinking. The two of you dance more together and apart. You go a few songs with Ikora, and Saint even convinces Zavala to come out for a few minutes. The sight draws quite a crowd. 

When the party begins to wind down, Saint walks you home. Just to your building, he insists, not wanting to cross any weird boundaries. You’d happily welcome him to stay the night, but you also want to respect the walls he’s putting up. This is still new and weird and wonderful for both of you. 

“Shall we get breakfast tomorrow, and perhaps talk about this when we are both less inebriated?” he suggests. His hand is curled around yours, keeping it warm. 

“Yeah, sure.” You’re sidled up against him, arm to arm. “The usual place?”

“Of course. Wherever you want, my bird.” 

You think you might melt into goop every time he calls you that name. 

Minutes of silence pass in each others’ company until you reach the doors of your apartment building. “This is my stop,” you say, despite knowing he’s aware of that. You untangle your hand from his and turn to face him. 

“I suppose it is,” he murmurs in reply. His hands snake around your waist. 

And under the light of the moon and the Traveler, you kiss him good night, and it’s the most right you’ve ever felt.   
“Good night, my dear,” he says in hushed awe when the two of you break apart after what must have been a little too long.   
“Good night, Saint.”

You drift away from him, waving goodbye. As soon as you shut the door to your apartment, you and Ghost begin squealing at each other in delight like a couple of characters in a Golden Age chick flick. You’re so happy you think you might float up into the ceiling. He’s happy, too, and he says so out loud. He wheels overhead like a brilliant star. 

You fall asleep that night holding a pillow to your chest to anchor yourself to the earth and keep your joy from lifting you up to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooooly fuck yall this took way too long. I am so sorry. I just really wanted to make it perfect.  
> there we have it folks!!! the climax of the slowburn!! the big smoocheroo!!! I hope you all enjoyed it. the next chapter will be a silly sappy follow-up to this, and we get to see a little bit of what saint and the guardian's romantic relationship is like.  
> thanks for sticking through this one with me everyone. I appreciate it so much <3  
> if you're craving some spicier saint/guardian content, I wrote [another nsfw fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915597/chapters/54774484) featuring these two clowns that you're welcome to read.  
> until next time, find me on twitter at [antlerlad](https://twitter.com/antlerlad). see you soon!


	14. Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> titled after ["transformation"](https://open.spotify.com/track/7g6gKYvsoYOLgIS9qPRdYi?si=TnciB10qSVaz_8Gzof9u2w) by the cinematic orchestra.  
> this is it, folks. this is the end. thank you so much for holding out on me.

The next morning, the two of you go to your favourite breakfast spot to have a chat. It’s a cheap restaurant called the West End Diner, and it’s about as dingy and tacky as it sounds, but they have the best hangover food you’ve had in your life. It’s the perfect place to have a good talk.   
The two of you get a booth in the back corner that amounts to something resembling a private space, and you talk. It’s wonderful. The catharsis of telling Saint how you feel, how you’ve yearned, is like nothing you’ve ever felt. And when your eggs arrive, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in a while.    
Over your food, you talk casually about what the two of you want out of this. God, it’s so easy. He respects everything you ask of him, and you do the same. He’s so easy to talk to - he always has been, but now, something’s shifted. You don’t feel like you’re hiding a little bit of yourself anymore. There is no longer a need to repress, or to doubt. He’s here, he’s real, he loves you, and you love him. 

-

The two of you decide not to go public with your relationship - at least, not yet. You both have personal and professional obligations to attend to, and they are much easier to deal with  _ without  _ people getting in your business. In the days following the ball, however, you inexplicably receive a message from Ikora on your personal channel that simply reads:

_ Congratulations. I was rooting for you. _

One part of you wants to tremble in fear, interrogate every Hidden agent that might have seen the two of you kiss at the ball, interrogate  _ Ikora  _ about what she had seen, but a different, larger part simply laughs so hard you get stomach cramps.

-

The first time Saint stays the night at your apartment, you two cuddle up on your couch and watch a movie. It’s part of Saint’s mandatory pop culture education (it’s really just an excuse to make him watch your favourite nerdy movies). When you sidle up against him with a bowl of popcorn, he throws an arm across your shoulders, and you hear a lifetime’s worth of tension escape from him in a deep, contented sigh. 

The idea that you could help him achieve this level of peace is a greater power than any Light the Traveler could bestow upon you.

-

Despite everything, the two of you remain there for each other. When Saint wakes from nightmares about the Infinite Forest or dreams of the Deep Stone Crypt, you ease his worries. The same applies when you deal with your own nighttime plagues. The steady weight of his hand between your shoulders grounds you and reminds you of what’s real and what matters. 

When the Almighty plummets to the Earth, Saint is there with you. The two of you stand atop the Tower in silence, arms woven around each others’ waists, waiting for its end or your own. The beast of a machine crashes in Twilight Gap, billowing thick clouds of black smoke into the air and blinding everyone in proximity for several minutes, and you sigh, tears rolling down your cheeks behind your helmet. Saint squeezes you tighter and whispers praise and reassurance that only you can hear despite the crowd of awed Guardians and civilians surrounding you.

And when you stumble into your apartment, numb and shedding vibrant yellow sand all over the front hall carpet, weary and in tears at the sight of the great black slab haunting the skies of Io, Saint catches you as you fall to your knees. Everything you worked for, everything you’ve ever done, the people you’ve saved and the people you’ve lost - it’s all for nothing. The Darkness is here. 

“It’s over,” you say as he fumbles with the release on your helm. “It’s here, Saint. I -” You sob into your hands. “I couldn’t stop it.” 

“My bird,” he murmurs, catching your wrists as your fingers dig into your scalp, “I would bet on you even if you were put up against ten Fallen kells. But even you cannot stop the inevitable.” 

“What am I gonna  _ do,  _ Saint?” You look up at his face. His visage is blurry behind your tears, but the warm purple glow of his lights cuts through. “This is the end.”

“There is nothing we can do now. Not until we know more.” He pulls you into a warm embrace, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. You sob again. “How about we start with a shower and some tea, my love.” 

That, right there, is why you love him. Saint was trapped in time for millennia, unable to see an end or even a beginning, seeing wave after wave of Vex until it seemed there was no hope of escape, but he was always in the present. He was grounded, grounding. An anchor - a black hole at the center of a chaotic universe, stable and drawing you to him. A pull like no other. Even in the face of the end of the world, he was still in the moment, ready to take things one step at a time. 

The world wasn’t over until it was over. You still have time. You can still fix this. 

You pull away and wipe the snot from your nose with the back of a glove. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” 

He kisses you softly and helps you to your feet. With Saint-14 at your side, anything is possible. Even staring the Darkness in the face and telling it to get the hell out of your solar system. 

Those stupid pyramids don’t stand a chance against you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well motherfuckers!!! I finally finished it. for those of you reading this in the future, I last updated this in [checks notes] march of 2020. then the pandemic hit and I didn't update it again until the end of august. but I promised, PROMISED myself I'd finish it before I went back to school for my final year of undergrad. and I did it! it's far less grand than I would like, but I feel like it fits. also a cool factoid: there is a real place in the city I go to school called the west end diner, and my god do they have the best, greasiest food I've ever enjoyed.   
> thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments from the beginning of this fic until now. I can't express enough how much every single one of you means to me as an extremely insecure writer. you're all angels, and I'm so glad you enjoyed this story. this is my first ever multi-chapter fanfiction I've seen through until the end, and I'm so glad it was with you guys.   
> thank you also to all my friends who have beta-read for me, namely raum who has been yelling with me about saint-14 for the last several months [(he also writes The Very Good saint fic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDRaum)  
> I suppose this is where I sign off! I hope you're all enjoying season of arrivals. get fucking HYPE for beyond light (exo stranger rip my gay ass tbh) let's fuck up some pyramids, guardians.  
> as always, you can find me on twitter at [antlerlad.](https://twitter.com/antlerlad) thank you all for accompanying me on this journey <3


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